


A Heart Full of Autumn Memories

by writeranthea



Category: 18th Century CE RPF, Historical RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, Canonical Child Abuse, Childhood, Childhood Friends, Explicit Sexual Content, Father-Son Relationship, First Time Topping, Forced Marriage, Grief/Mourning, Jealousy, Love at First Sight, M/M, Mother-Son Relationship, Past Character Death, Reunions, Romantic Fluff, Time Skips
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-17
Updated: 2019-11-20
Packaged: 2020-10-18 07:56:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 89,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20635739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writeranthea/pseuds/writeranthea
Summary: The autumn of 1722 had not been one that ten-year-old Friedrich had initially looked forward to: after having spend the summer months at his mother's court in Monbijou, the prospect of being forced to live in Wusterhausen and under his father's brutal hand had filled the young crown prince's heart with fear. Unbeknownst to him, Friedrich Wilhelm had invited the doge of Venice and his youngest son, Giacomo, to a stay in Wusterhausen during a period of ongoing negotiations. The two had become friends and had, after Giacomo's departure, build a friendship which had lasted until it had come to an end during his imprisonment in Küstrin. It took Friedrich years to realise that he had never quite let go of his lost friend - and it threatened to overwhelm him when he was reunited with Giacomo by chance in 1747.





	1. Chapter 1 - 1722

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: I posted this story on AO3. If you see it on any other website or platform, please consider that I did not consent to it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a story that I've wanted to write since _forever_ (come on, we all know that Fritz would've deserved some happiness in his childhood...) - I think it's needless to say that Giacomo's father wasn't really the doge of Venice and that I aged Giacomo up, as I couldn't have kept him being more than thirteen years younger than Fritz :-D
> 
> Not betaed, all mistakes are mine.

**September 1722**

Friedrich had dragged out the last note as much as his lungs only had allowed him to, feeling his heart somersault in his chest when both his music teacher and his mother had applauded in honest admiration. “His Highness has improved rapidly,” the elderly man had spoken, first nodding into the direction of Sophie Dorothea before turning his gaze back towards Friedrich, whose face had since gaines a soft pink hue from the praise he had received. “He has indeed,” Sophie Dorothea had agreed as she had stood from where she had been sitting in an armchair a bit father back in the room. “I am certain that he will be just as skilled when he will return to his lessons in November.” As fast as the grin and blush had risen into Friedrich’s face, it had been gone even faster. The young crown prince had taken a step back, even though it would never have been able to change the fact that he, after this, would be forced to give up his beloved instrument for the two entire months that he would be gone from Berlin. An eternity for a child. If Friedrich had never grown to like the months between August and November, it had certainly not been due to the way that the skies would hang grey and heavy above his head, or that the trees and flowers would slowly die only to be revived in the following year. No, for the young boy the months between August and November had always been the worst of his life for an entirely different reason: like every year, he, as well as his siblings, would be forced to spend them in Königs Wusterhausen, the palace that Friedrich Wilhelm had chosen as their fall residence. He would be taken away from his mother’s court in Monbijou palace, where everything around him had been filled with love and where he had alway been allowed to be himself, where he had been able to take after his passion of music, reading and ancient history. For Friedrich, Königs Wusterhausen had never been, and would never become the getaway that it had been for Friedrich Wilhelm. The king of Prussia’s obsession with hunts and his _Tabakskollegium_ had been notorious and Königs Wusterhausen had provided him with the perfect place to live his questionable hobbies out, while Friedrich himself had loathed hunts as much as the mere smell of tobacco had made him sick. It had been widely known that Friedrich Wilhelm had been disappointed with having an heir like Friedrich, who would always rather pick up his flute than his gun, and had tried his all to force his own obsessions into his, in his eyes, unruly son.

When staying in Königs Wusterhausen, Friedrich would always be forced to participate his father’s daily hunts, he sometimes even had to endure them twice a day if Friedrich Wilhelm would decide that a single hunt would not be enough for the day. There had been only one time that the young prince had dared to refuse his father’s order of accompanying him onto one of those hunts, where he had hid away in his room instead. The aftermath had been that the then seven-year-old had been unable to eat anything but soups and broth for almost a week, as Friedrich’s jaw had been too swollen for him to move it properly. Friedrich had barely been able to heart the voices of his mother and his music teacher over the sound of the bloos rushing in his ears. He had been scared, holding onto the instrument in his hands as if it had been his own lifeline while he had kept his eyes firmly casted onto the polished wooden floor of the music room. “I have no doubts, Your Majesty.” Sophie Dorothea had nodded and had waited until the music teacher had collected his belongings, had bowed to the non-reacting crown prince and had left the room before she had moved over towards her son and had pulled him into an embrace. “You really did play beautifully, mon petit,” she had spoken with a low voice, running a hand over his back in an attempt to get the boy to lose up on his tense posture. It had been to no avail. “I do not want to leave,” Friedrich had whispered once his mother had removed her arms from around him, looking up at her with eyes wide from fear and filled with tears. “I do not want to go to him, please do not make me go to him.” His sentence had been ended at the same time a sob had had crept up his throat, and the first twin tears had escaped his eyes when his mother had taken his face into her hands. Sophie Dorothea had not spoken for a good few moments as she had wiped the tears away from her trembling son’s cheeks, her mother’s heart aching from seeing her beloved son so scared, of his own father nonetheless, and the fact that he had every right to be scared had been even more heart-rendering. “I am sorry Friedrich, but there is... we both have no other choice than to obey his orders.” Friedrich’s eyelids had fluttered close, pressing more tears out of his eyes, as his small body had been shaken by a sob, “Do not leave me alone w-with him, Maman.” The ache in Sophie Dorothea’s chest had grown so fierce that she, for a few seconds, had believed herself to pass out; never, not in a thousand nightmares she ever would have imagined that she would hear her son say something like that. That Friedrich Wilhelm had been an unpredictable monster who did not show any hesitation or compassion when it came to beating their children and anyone but her, Sophie Dorothea had had know. Of course she had. She had not even tried to keep up with the number of times that she had heard her children’s, and especially Friedrich’s pleading cries resounding through the corridors at every occasion that Friedrich Wilhelm had visited them. There had been no use in trying to twist the truth that had been known through all of Europe: with Friedrich Wilhelm, there had been a brute on the Prussian throne.

Friedrich had still been clutching his flute to his chest, trembling from both fear and a futile attempt to stop himself from crying, his father had always hit him harder if he had cried. Friedrich Wilhelm had reasonated the hits of his first or his cane with the arguement that, according to his idea, no future king of Prussia should be allowed to be so sensitive. Sophie Dorothea had clicked her tongue, softly so, as she had taken her young son’s face into her hands yet again. He had been such a beautiful boy, and what her husband had believed to be a weakness and an unfitting sensitivity, she had viewed as a gift. Her son had been gifted with the flute as much as in his studies and while Friedrich Wilhelm, in his twisted mind, had tried to pull their son closer to him with the brutal way that he treated Friedrich with, the monarch yet had to realize that he had been doing nothing but pushing the young boy further into Sophie Dorothea’s arms. “Listen to me, mon cœr,” she had said, tilting Friedrich’s head back so he had been forced to look up at her with a gentle determination. “I will try and talk to him, I promise that I will.” Friedrich had merely sniffled. “Please do not cry, my love,” his mother had whispered, her voice sounding suspiciously choked-up. “It will all eventually turn out to be alright, do not cry.” It had been a lie, and mother as well as son had known it too well. “You know how fast autumn passes, do you not? You will be back here in November, mon cœr. I promise it to you.” Sophie Dorothea had been aware of how desperate she had sounded, even to her own ears, but what else could she have done? If her husband would want to beat the boy, nothing she could do or say that could possibly hinder him from beating him. “Oui Maman,” Friedrich had whispered back after a few moments of trying to control his trembling chin, one of his hands loosening its white-knuckled hold on his flute to wipe at the wetness on his face with two rough motions. “You are such a sweet boy.” His mother had kissed his forehead while she had run one hand through Friedrich’s dark curls, “Do not lot him tell you that your are not perfectly fine the way you are, Fritz. Prussia will be so lucky to have a king like you.” He had swallowed hard when Sophie Dorothea had stepped aside and had gave a hand sign to the manservant that had stood waiting in a corner out of Friedrich’s sight. “You will be able to play again when you come back. I promise, mon petit.” Knowing that any attempt of refusal would be in vain, Friedrich had merely sniffled quite pitifully as he had disassembled the instrument and had set the pieces down into their designated places in the box that the manservant had been offering to him. He had dreaded the time without his flute almost as much as the time that he would be force to spend with his father. “Very good,” his mother had praised him once he had put the final piece into the box, but Friedrich had not been able to take his eyes off even after the top had been put back on. The hand in his hair had been running steady circles, and while it had comforted him in his childish world of feelings, it had only increased the flow of tears. He had not wanted to leave... With tears once more blurring his vision Friedrich had watched the manservant, carrying his most priced possession, leave the room.

Sophie Dorothea’s decision to keep the flute stashed in one of the vaults of Monbijou had been a wise one, though Friedrich, considering that he had been just a ten-year-old child, had not been able to fathom in that moment: Friedrich Wilhelm had already destroyed not only one, but _three_ of Friedrich’s instruments in fits of rage over his son’s, in his eyes, valueless interests. “When will we be leaving tomorrow?”, he had asked with a voice barely audible as his mother had stopped caressing his hair to put a hand between his shoulders to move him along with her instead. “After breakfast, mon petit. Your father want us to arrive prior to lunchtime.” Friedrich had kept quiet as his mother had walked him through the dimly-lit music room, and with each step that he had taken, the dread in his heart had grown bigger. “Maman?” “Yes, my love.” “I do not understand... why does Papa not like me? Am I being too - too naughty or -” Sophie Dorothea had slammed the door, which she had opened a short moment ago, shut again, so forcefully that it had made both Friedrich and herself flinch, and the young boy had scurried a few steps backwards out of instinct, wrapping his arms around himself. He had not dared to look at his mother, who, after having realized what she had done, had instantly crouched down and had reached out for her son. “Come to me, Fritz.” Sophie Dorothea had spoken as if she would have tried to lure a shy cat and the strained smile on her face had said more than her words ever would have been able to, it had rarely ever happened that she had seen the effects Friedrich Wilhelm’s treatment had left on their oldest, extraordinarily sensitive son’s soul so painfully clear. Friedrich had hesitated only for a split second before he had taken his mother’s hand, had allowed her to pull him close and to take his other had as well. “I want you to listen,” Sophie Dorothea had said, lightly squeezing Friedrich’s hands, “and I want you to listen closely.” She had waited until the boy had nodded before she had continued, “Whatever he is telling you, whatever he believes is wrong with you... do not listen to him, Friedrich. You are the future of Prussia, do not forget it.” For a ten-year-old it had been hard to understand, _being the future of Prussia_, but Friedrich had only nodded once again. “I love you, my son.” His mother had smiled at him, had kissed his forehead before she had raised into an upright position and had opened the door anew, “Have a good night.” She had send him on his way to his bedroom with one last caressing stroke of his curls, and when Friedrich had thrown a look over his shoulder after a few seconds of having walked, she had already been gone. The young crown prince had kept his head down as he had scurried into the upper floor, his eyes still burning. He had not wanted to leave Monbijou. “Fritz!”

His head had snapped up when he, with his hand on the door handle, had heard his name being called and the sound of footsteps nearing in on him. “Do not tell me that you are already going to bed.” Wilhelmine’s teasing voice had not failed its goal to bring a smile to Friedrich’s face, and it had been his sister who herself had laughed when he ducked away from her hand tickling his neck. “I am and you should do the same.” “You are talking like Sosine, Fritz! Do not be silly!” Friedrich’s smile had faltered when he had realized as for why his older, and favorite, sister had tried to cheer him up. With them being the main targets of their father’s cane and fist, the next day would bring hell for the both of them all over again. He had not said anything else before he had pushed the handle down and had downright stormed into his room, earning a confused “Fritz?” from Wilhelmine, who had not bothered to ask before she had simply followed him. “I do not want to leave,” he had whispered as if it had been a confession when he had sat down on the edge of his bed, squeezing his hands together. “I hate it there.” He had continued to look at the floor with a blurred vision when Wilhelmine had moved across the room to sit down beside him, her hands clenching in her lap in the same way that he had been doing it. “I do, too,” she had answered after the few moments of silence, which had hovered heavy over the siblings’ heads, had passed. “But we will make it through.” Friedrich had pulled up his nose with a sniffle, “I - I do not want him to hit me again, Mine.” The summer months had been always been the only time of the year that Friedrich Wilhelm’s eldest children had been allowed to live without the constant threat of a beating, as the king of Prussia would be busy with his duties even more so than ususally and thus would grant Sophie Dorothea to take Friedrich and Wilhelmine under her wing for what would be the happiest months in their lifes - and those months had always been over way too soon. “I know,” Wilhelmine had answered. Friedrich Wilhelm had liked her as little as he had liked his oldest son, but despite being three years younger, it had always been her brother who had received the worst beatings. “You will not be alone, Fritz. I will be there for you.” “He will not like that.” Despite the serious topic, both Friedrich and Wilhelmine had laughed. “No, he will not. But...” “Hm?” “We will probably be able to run away from him soon if he will continue to grow fatter and fatter.” “Mine!”, Friedrich had giggled, having wrapped his arms around his stomach when he had almost toppled over from laughing, and had allowed Wilhelmine to pull him into a quick embrace. “I love you, Fritz.” She had hasted a kiss onto the top of Friedrich’s head. “I love you too.” “I could ask Maman if it is possible for us to stay in the same room if you would like it.” “I would... but Father will never allow it.” Wilhelmine had huffed, though had not disagreed as she had known that Friedrich had been right. “I merely hope that autumn will be over fast.” “Yeah, me too.” She had sighed as she had stood again, “Good night, Fritz.” “Good night, Mine.” After his sister had left his room, Friedrich’s valet had helped him out of his day attire, into his nightdress and under his covers. “Have a restful night, Your Highness.”

~

What Friedrich had gone through had been anything but a restful night. It had taken the young boy more than one hour and a half until he had finally been able to ease into a sleep in which he had ended up being haunted by unpleasant dreams. They had not quite been nightmares, but Friedrich had been glad when his and Wilhelmine’s governess, Madame Dorothea Luise von Wittenhorst-Sonsfeld, had woken him up. Friedrich had not been able to get anything down when he had been sitting at the lavishly set-up breakfast table with Wilhelmine and his four younger sisters while his mother had been nursing August Ferdinand, his newborn and only brother; the prospect of having to face his father had clasped around his stomach with an iron hold. “Are you unwell, Friedrich?”, Sophie Dorothea had asked, and Friedrich had winced when he had realized that he had failed to hide the fact that he had merely been pushing his food around on the plate without actually eating it. “No, Maman. I am not hungry.” “Are you certain that you are not -” The glasses had clinked and the plates had clirred when Friedrich had banged his clenched fist onto the table, “I said that I am not hungry!”, and the young crown prince’s short-lived anger had been gone as fast as it had come up when everyone’s eyes, including those of the governesses, had come to rest on him, anxious and maybe even scared of the prince falling into a tantrum which would mimic those his father had been infamous for. A few tense seconds had passed, but Friedrich had merely pulled his hand back and had tried to make himself as small in his chair as he only could have done it and it had been his mother who had cut an end to the silence. “Friedrich, come here this instant.” His sisters’ eyes had still been on him when he had climbed off his chair and had moved around the table to where Sophie Dorothea had been sitting. Before his mother had said anything, however, she had noticed the tears that had stood in his eyes, and the firm creased on her face had eased out as she positioned her newborn son into the crook of her right arm so that her left had been free to use. Friedrich had kept his head bowed so far that his chin had nearly touched his chest, he had known that he had not been allowed to raise his voice, especially not to his mother, but he simply... had not been able to help himself, just as he had failed to not flinch when Sophie Dorothea’s fingers had suddenly been in his hair. “I am sorry, Maman,” the young boy had whispered, looking up with tear-filled eyes when his mother had asked him to with a gentle order. She had not answered, had merely clicked his tongue and had made sure that she would not accidentally crush her youngest son as she had leaned over to pull her oldest into an embrace. “I am worried about you, mon cœr. Constantly so.” Sophie Dorothea had kissed Friedrich’s temple before she had pulled back, brushing a curl away from Friedrich’s forehead. “Are you certain that you are not feeling unwell?” _I am scared Maman_ he had wanted to say, but all he had answered with had been a low “Yes, Maman.” “Good. I will have something packed for you to eat in the carriage later, I cannot have you going without food until midday.” His stomach had clenched yet again at the sheer imagination of what his next meal would be like and he had been quite grateful when his mother had told him to sit back down, for he had been able to blink away his tears without her commenting on them. She had known the reason behind them. She always had.

As soon as breakfast had been over with the royal children had been ordered down into the courtyard, where two gilded carriages had already been awaiting them. Sophie Dorothea and the youngest four of her children would be riding one, while Wilhelmine, Friedrich, and his one year younger sister Friederike Luise had been destined to ride in the other. Friedrich had clutched the bag his governess had given him, which had been filled with charries, his favorite fruit, and a few backed treats, to his chest as he had first watched his mother and youngest siblings get into the first carriage. For a split second the young crown prince had considered to turn on his heels and to run, to hide somewhere until they would be gone, but he had casted that idea aside with a firm shake of his head - it would have been to no avail, as he probably would have been caught before he would even make it to his hiding spot and it most likely would have earned him a harsh punishment. He had swallowed hard when he had perceived the sound of the guard walking over the gravel stones of the courtyard, and it had been the door of their carriage that had been opened next. As the crown prince, it had been on Friedrich to take the first seat, and he had still held onto the bag, much like a lifeline, when he had climbed up the steps and into the carriage. If his stomach had been fluttering, it had not been due to his excitement about the forthcoming carriage ride. Two mere hours and he would be back ar Königs Wusterhausen, back with his father and back to living under the constant fear of triggering his father’s anger by even the smallest of misdemeanors. Wilhelmine had taken the seat beside him - thankfully so, as he and Frederike Luise had never truly got along and Friedrich had not been sure whether or not he would have been able to contain himself if his younger sister should have made one of her teasing comments. He had turned his head to gaze out of the window as the carriage had set into motion and had moved over the courtyard, staring straight ahead without really focusing on a certain point while not losening his hold on the bag in his lap. _“You will not be alone, Fritz, I will be there for you.”_ Wilhelmine’s words had resounded in his mind as the city they had passed by had been reduced to a blurred mix of colors due to the tears that had vehemently refused to ebb back down. He had been so scared, scared of getting hurt again and scared of his father possibly managing to take even more of his joy and happiness away. What if Friedrich Wilhelm had since found out that he had, despite his father’s clear order not to, resumed to take flute lessons? Buried deeply into his fear stricken thoughts, it had taken Friedrich a few seconds to realize that Wilhelmine had loosened the fingers of his right hand from the fabric of the bag and had taken it into both of her hands. It had been a simple gesture, but one that had said more than the thirteen-year-old princess’ words ever could have. _I will be there for you._ They had been welded together by the fate of being the unfortunate targets of Friedrich Wilhelm’s hellish anger, had formed a bond that had been reserved for the two of them and which, unbeknownst to them, should last for the rest of their time.

They had arrived in Königs Wusterhausen too soon, if it would have gone after Friedrich’s desire the carriage would not have stopped for another two hours. Wilhelmine had let go of his hand some time ago, as he had been reminded, by a note from his mother, that he must eat. He had eaten a few of the cherries but had not even considered touching one of the baked treats, for it had not been his wish to throw up and his stomach had already protested at the sweet sourness of the fruits. During the majority of the ride neither Friedrich nor his sisters had spoken, despite not being a target as much as the eldest two children had been, Friederike Luise had been no less scared to meet his father. She, and even her younger sisters, had already been introduced to the bite of Friedrich Wilhelm’s cane. They had all known how Friedrich Wilhelm’s fist had felt. Friedrich had closed his eyes and had kept them shut for a good few moments when they had made the final halt in the couryard of Königs Wusterhausen Palace, forcing himself to keep his eyes from filling up. If his father would see his tears he would already be due for the first punishment. Sophie Dorothea and the youngest of the royal children had been the first to step out of their carriage and when Friedrich had opened his eyes, the first thing he had seen had been his father, who had since moved to stand in the courtyard. The king of Prussia had welcomed his wife with a single kiss to Sophie Dorothea’s cheek, had stroked his newborn son’s cheek with one finger - Friedrich had not missed the glimmer that had been present in his father’s eyes when Friedrich Wilhelm had looked at August - and had halfheartedly acknowledged the arrival of his youngest daughters with a nod. It had never been a secret that Friedrich Wilhelm had rather disliked the fact that his wife had birthed him so many daughters and so few boys. The door of the carriage that Friedrich had been in had been opened next, and as the crown prince, it had been Friedrich’s duty to get out first. His heart had been racing in his chest when he had climbed down the few steps and had moved into the direction of his father. Friedrich Wilhelm’s face had went back to its usual cold mask, gone had been the glimmer in and the softened creases around his eyes which had been present when he had welcomed his wife and youngest son, when his narrowed gaze had come to rest on Friedrich. His father had looked at him as if he had expected him to step out of line, figuratively speaking, from the moment that his feet had come in touch with the ground. Friedrich had kept his eyes on said ground as he had dutifully moved to stand in front of Friedrich Wilhelm, and his breath had caught in his throat when the tip of his father’s cane had tapped against his chest twice, silently ordering to look up. His father’s eyes had been cold enough to cause a shiver to run up Friedrich’s spine, and the gasp that could have been heard when the tip of the cane had pushed his chin up, causing his neck to arch in an almost unnatural arch, had come from Sophie Dorothea, not Friedrich himself. The boy had been frozen,and it had not only been due to the tilting of his head - when he had looked up he had seen how his father had clenched his free hand into a fist. “The most important question that needs to be answered is,” Friedrich Wilhelm had drawled out, his voice as cold as it had always been, “whether you... _behaved_ or caused unnecessary trouble, latter which requires a punishment.”

Friedrich had bit down hard on the insides of his cheeks to prevent himself from letting out the whimper that had been building up in his chest, his eyes darting towards his mother for just a second. Sophie Dorothea’s face had seemed unusually pale when she had dared to close in on her husband, whose face, as opposed to hers, had been in the process of rapidly gaining its notorious shade of red. “He has behaved exceptionally well,” she had hurried to whisper, putting a hand onto Friedrich Wilhelm’s shoulder. “His teachers have reported that he is beginning to show a great interest in warfare.” It had been a lie, but Sophie Dorothea had not cared if it would cause her to be on the receiving end of her husband’s fury; she rather would have taken a beating than watch her young son being unjustly hurt. Friedrich Wilhelm had huffed and had kept the tip of his cane under his son’s chin as he had halfway turned around to look at his wife. “Has he now?” Sophie Dorothea had nodded, taking a step back as she closed her arms around the sleeping newborn baby again. “I promise it, you may ask his teachers yourself.” Friedrich had not moved an inch when his father had turned back around to face him once more. “A wonder has happened, then. Maybe you will turn out to not as useless as I have believed you to be. Say, are you truly interested in warfare?” The young crown prince had swallowed and, after another short look at his mother, had nodded as much as he had been able to with his chin still being pushed up. “Use your words, boy! God did not give you a tongue for no reason!” “Yes Sir,” Friedrich had hurried to answer, his voice barely above a whisper, “I am, Sir.” A frightening smirk had shown on the king of Prussia’s face as he had pulled his cane back and had straightened his posture, “You are not an utter disgrace to my name then,” he had said, his voice unaffected by the smirk for it had still been cold. “Good.” Friedrich had been dismissed when Friedrich Wilhelm had made a waving gesture with his hand, and the boy had not needed to be told twice before he had nearly darted over to his mother, who had laid a protecting hand onto his head. As soon as the greeting had been over with Friedrich Wilhelm had walked back towards the palace, where his minister of war and friend, Friedrich Wilhelm von Grumbkow, had been waiting. The presence of the minister alone would not have been anything noteworthy, but it had been the amount of servants that had been moving into and out of the palace carrying all sorts things. Considering that Königs Wusterhausen had been the king of Prussia’s place of solitude, it had been most confusing for the young prince to see it so buzzing with people. “Maman?” He had looked up at his mother, who, if Friedrich would have judged by the crease between her eyebrows, had been as confused as her son. “I apologize, mon petit, but I do not have an answer for you.”

A short while later the royal family had been seated at the lunch table, and as always, it had been Friedrich Wilhelm who had spoken the most, asking questions to which he had demanded an adequate answer. Even if Friedrich would have been hungry, he hardly would have been able to get the food dow n that had been served. Green beans and pork knuckle had not been something that could have been found at Monbijou, for his mother had titled it as “food for peasants, not royals”, but Friedrich had known that his father had detested anything even remotely French so there had been no chance of him being able to eat his favorite meals in Königs Wusterhausen. He had tried to suppress a sigh as he had pushed his fork into the beans, hoping that Friedrich Wilhelm would not notice that he yet had to take the first bite. “Fiekchen!” Friedrich had flinched when his father’s voice had boomed through the room, despite the fact that it had been his mother who had been addressed, no him. “With all that is going on I have forgotten to tell you something.” “What would it be?” “The doge of Venice is due to arrive here later today.” Sophie Dorothea had set her fork down as she had looked at her husband with raised eyebrows, “The doge of Venice?” “Yes, Fiekchen,” Friedrich Wilhelm had retorted over the rim of his beer glass. “He and his youngest son will be staying in Wusterhausen for as long as our negotiations will be going on.” Friedrich’s mother had not answered, but the thin line that her lips had been pressed into had been tale-telling. If she would have known that the doge had been coming, she would have tried to convince her husband of granting him a stay in Berlin instead, as there had been pomp and splendor that could have been a match for Venice’s. The palace in Königs Wusterhausen had lacked any pomp whatsoever, its interior had been scarce and the portraits that had hung on the walls had been the only somewhat luxurious aspect. It, again, had been no secret that Friedrich Wilhelm had detested anything pompous. “So this is what all this hustling and bustling is about.” Sophie Dorothea’s voice had gotten quite the invidious edge to it and she had pointed her lips when she had reached for her wine glass, taking a rather fast sip from the drink. Friedrich Wilhelm, upon having realized that his beloved wife had not been as amused as he had expected her to be, had heaved himself up from his chair and had moved around the table, past the row of his terrified children, to kiss Sophie Dorothea’s cheek. “Do not be angry with me for being forgetful, mein Fiekchen.” The corners of Sophie Dorothea’s mouth had tugged down into a short-lived grimace at the touch of her husband’s lips on her skin; Friedrich would only much later find out how much his mother had despised his father. “I am not angry, my dear husband.” She had very well known that he never would have left her side if she would not have said that, and she thus had endured another kiss as silently as she had always her husband’s nightly visits. “I am relieved, Fiekchen.” Friedrich Wilhelm had moved back towards his seat; he had been the only one to actually find enjoyment in the meal that had been served. The king of Prussia had sank back down into his chair with a grunt, a sound at which Friedrich and Wilhelmine had shared a look. His sister had barely managed to hide her grin behind her hand.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not betaed, all mistakes are mine.

**September 1722**

“Straighten your posture, you useless boy. Stop looking at the ground!” Friedrich had not been able to suppress a sharp cry when Friedrich Wilhelm’s cane had hit the back of his legs, causing his knees to give in for a split second. “I am sorry, Sir.” Friedrich Wilhelm had merely snarled something inaudible, and the he young crown prince had squeezed his eyes shut and had clenched his trembling fists at his sides as the cane had come down a second time. “Do not embarass me in front of my guest or I promise the you that your backside will not be able to come in touch with a seat for a fortnight if I can help it, you cursed brat.” “Yes Sir.” Friedrich had opened his eyes just as his father had turned back towards the carriage, which had come into sight a few moments earlier. After lunch had been over with, the royal children had been send to their rooms with the order to stay in them until they would be called down into the courtyard for an appropriate greeting of the expected guests from Italy. Friedrich had busied himself by reading one of his favorite books on ancient Roman history, which he had managed to bring with him to Königs Wusterhausen by hiding it in one of his travel suitcases. If his father would have found it, he would have taken it away and certainly would have destroyed it if he would have caught Friedrich with it, just as he had done it with his instruments and other books. His mother had known about his love for Latin and ancient history, so had his teacher, and Friedrich had been on a knife-edge by going after his interests. His father would not have hesitated to beat those interests out of him. It had been well into the afternoon hours, and Friedrich had been close to the last page of the considerably large book when Madame Wittenhorst-Sonsfeld had knocked at the door and had pulled him out of his world of thoughts. He had been dressed into a new set of clothing, one that had resembled a Prussian military uniform more than any court attire. Friedrich had tried to hide his displeasure about the clothes he had been forced to wear on his father’s order, as he had known just what kind of punishment he had to expect if he would have voiced his dislike out. So with the back of his thighs burning where Friedrich Wilhelm’s cane had hit them, he had stood behind his father and had watched how the carriage had come to a halt and how three of the doge’s guards had climbed off the boot. The young crown prince had never seen uniform in such a color before, the pomposity of the red and golden fabric of the coats alone had easily overdone the posse of the guards that Friedrich Wilhelm had gathered in the courtyard in an subliminal display of military power.

Two of the Venetian guards had positioned themselves at each side of the carriage’s door while the third had opened said door and Friedrich had watched how a tall and blond man had stepped out first. The man’s attire had been rich and the look on his face had been quite arrogant, with a cocked eyebrow and an almost defiantly raised chin, as he had taken in the quite non-impressing sight the palace of Königs Wusterhausen had been. The young crown prince had realized within an instant that the man must had been the Venetian doge his father had spoken of during lunch, the guest that would be staying with them. “His Majesty the king of Prussia is welcoming you in Königs Wusterhausen.” Before the doge had even greeted Friedrich Wilhelm, however, he had turned around towards the carriage once more, after having acknowledged the Prussian guard’s words with a nod, and had reached inside with one arm while muttering something that Friedrich had not been able to understand. “_Vieni, figlio mio_.” When his arm had come back into sight, there had been two small hands holding onto the doge’s gloved hand. A boy, from what Friedrich had been able to tell, a few years younger than him, had used the hold on his father’s hand to climb down the few steps of the carriage. There had been no mistaking in telling that the man and the boy had been father and son, for the boy’s curls had been as good as identical to the doge’s long, blond hair. With his son securely at his hand, the doge had walked over to stand in front of Friedrich Wilhelm and had bowed his head once before he had reached out and had shaken the king of Prussia’s hand. “Your Majesty.” The doge had spoken with a voice that had matched his outer appearance: smooth and arrogant, and from his position Friedrich had been able to see that the man had not lost his smirk as he and Friedrich Wilhelm had greeted each other. “Your Highness.” “I apologize for my delay, there had been accident on one of the roads.” The king of Prussia had grunted in approval and had let go of the doge’s hand. “Improving the safety on my roads has been on my agenda for as long as I am proudly carrying my title.” “I have travelled on roads which had been in terrible, terrible condition, Your Majesty.” Friedrich Wilhelm had not answered, not verbally at least, as he had cleared his throat in an unmistakable demand for a clearer statement. “Those of the French, of course.” Friedrich had flinched and had taken an involuntarily step backwards when booming laughter had rippled from his father’s throat, a laughter to which the Venetian doge had joined in. “Ah the French, the French,” Friedrich Wilhelm had snorted, “the presence of roads in that...”, the Prussian had gestured with his hands as he had troubles to find the correct word, “in itself could be seen as one of God’s greatest miracles.” While the doge had moved on to greet Sophie Dorothea in an equal manner, Friedrich had taken a closer look at the boy that had wrapped both of his arms around his father’s leg. He clearly had tried to hide behind his father, and much to Friedrich’s surprise, the doge had not objected, for his left hand had continued to rest on top of the boy’s head, his fingers moving through the blond curls they had found there.

“Now, who is this young man?” The king of Prussia’s cane had pointed at the boy who had been practically hidden behind the doge’s leg, and if his tone had been snapping, the doge had merely commented it by raising one of his elegant eyebrows for a moment before he had patted his son’s head and had leaned down to speak to him. “_Vieni a mostrarti, amore mio_.” Friedrich had not been able to describe the feeling in his chest that had come up when he had watched the doge interact with his son. If he ever would have dared to act so clingy around his father, everything he would have gotten to feel would have been his father’s fist, not the gentle touches with which the doge had convinced his son to get out of hiding. “He is my youngest son, Your Majesty. His name is Giacomo.” The young crown prince had been sure that Friedrich Wilhelm would not have gone without making a biting comment about the boy being too old to act like this if said boy would not have been the son of the man he had needed to negotiate with. The boy, Giacomo, had bowed down so far in front of Friedrich Wilhelm that he would have fallen forward if the doge’s hand would not have darted out to catch him by the shoulder. It had only been the three adults that had laughed at the boy’s near fall, however. “Such a polite and well-behaved boy,” Sophie Dorothea had said and when Friedrich Wilhelm had agreed to his wife’s words with a nod, Friedrich had needed to swallow hard around the lump in his throat. “He is, Your Majesty. My wife and I are most proud of him.” Friedrich Wilhelm had merely nodded once before he had reached around, had planted his hand in the back of Friedrich’s back and had pushed his son to stand in front of him, his touches nowhere as soft or gentle as the doge’s had been. “I do not believe that you have greeted our guests yet, Friedrich.” His father had said his name as if it had been a curse, and the young crown prince had tried to swallow as inconspiciously as he could when he, too, had bowed his head before he had looked up into the doge’s face. “Your Highness.” His eyes had widened when his greeting had been answered with a smile and a nod from the man, “Your Highness.” A movement in the corner of Friedrich’s eye had eventually teared his attention away from the doge’s face, Giacomo had moved to stand behind his father again, though had peaked out from behind his father’s leg and at Friedrich with eyes as wide as Friedrich’s had been mere moments ago. “I apologize, Your Majesty. He has always been very shy.” “It is quite alright, Your Highness.” The fact that Sophie Dorothea had taken an instant liking to the boy had been obvious, even if she would not have reached out to stroke one of Giacomo’s chubby cheeks, and Friedrich had found harbouring a sudden dislike than curiosity towards him. “How old is he?” “Seven, Your Majesty.” Friedrich Wilhelm had interrupted the short conversation by clearing his throat. “I ought to believe that it would be wise for us to move inside.” “Of course, Your Majesty. _Vieni_, Giacomo.” The royal children, except the crown prince, had dashed back towards the palace. Friedrich had kept his gaze firmly casted onto the ground in front of him as they had ambled over the courtyard, Friedrich Wilhelm’s presence beside him had been enough to make his heart somersault. He would not have been surprised if he would have felt the burn of the cane on the back of his legs again. “How many children do you have?” “My wife bore me seven children, Your Majesty.” “Sons?” “Six. Giacoma, our only daughter, died of the pox a few months after birth.”

The king of Prussia had stopped in his tracks to look at the doge in open surprise. “Six sons you say?” “Yes, Your Majesty. Gaetano is my oldest, my secured heir. He is acting as my representative as long as I am gone. And Giacomo,” the doge had gestured to the boy, whose hand he had been holding, “is by far my youngest.” “A late-born?” The doge had laughed at Sophie Dorothea’s question, “Yes, Your Majesty, my Giacomo could be described as that. My wife and I went through a decade without any children before he came into this world.” Friedrich Wilhelm had answered with a grunt that could have been described as one of surprise before he had spoken. “It surely is something that every man is dreaming of having. Daughters... you need to drink a lot if you have as many as I do.” The doge had merely nodded in agreement and Friedrich Wilhelm had grunted again as they had continued to walk, and while the boy, Giacomo, had been holding hid father’s hand, all Friedrich had gotten to feel of his father had been the length of Friedrich Wilhelm’s cane tapping against the back of his legs in a silent but constant warning. “Friedrich?” He had been so focused on keeping his gaze casted onto the ground and his back straightened, latter on his father’s unmistakable order, that he had not noticed how is mother had come to stand in front him. It had only been the sting of yet another hit across the back of his legs that Friedrich’s head had snapped back up. “Yes, Maman?” Sophie Dorothea had smiled at him, though had renounced to stroke his cheek, as Friedrich Wilhelm would have another fit at the fact that his wife had been coddling their son. “Why do you not show our young guest to the playroom?” Friedrich had missed how the adults had since agreed on a retreat to the king of Prussia’s study in order for the negotiations to being right away, as neither Friedrich Wilhelm nor the Venetian doge had been especially eager to waste any more precious time. With the Austrians as well as the French ready to act at any given opportunity, every hour in which the treaty would not be set up had been uttermost precious. “It is a good idea, Fiekchen,” Friedrich Wilhelm had said, turning his head to look at the doge. The Italian, however, had crouched down to talk to his son at an eye level. “_Vuoi andare a giocare con il principe, Giacomo?_” While Friedrich himself had neither spoken nor understood Italian at that point, he had known that his mother had. “_Andrà tutto bene. Te lo prometto, figlio mio. Non devi preoccuparti._” Giacomo’s shoulders had slumped and he had peeked over to Friedrich before he had looked back at his father, answering to him with a low voice. “_Ma... non vuole giocare con me, Papà_.” “_Oh, gli piacerebbe molto giocare con te_,” Sophie Dorothea had said, smiling down at the young boy who had nibbled on his bottom lip a bit longer before he had nodded and had loosened the hold on his father’s hand. “Does he only speak Italian?” “No.” Both Sophie Dorothea and the doge had laughed at the meek answer from Giacomo. The sound of Friedrich Wilhelm clearing his throat had cut the short scene to an end, and Friedrich had pressed his lips together when his mother had put a hand onto his shoulder. “Be kind to him, Friedrich.” He had nodded, feeling his father’s cold gaze on him and the two children had looked at each other, unsure how to go on. “Off you two go, then.”

The doge had placed a quick kiss onto the crown of his son’s curls before he, gently, had pushed him into Friedrich’s direction. “_Divertiti e sii al sicuro_.” “_Si Papà_.” When Friedrich Wilhelm and the doge had, already buried in a conversation once more, walked off, and Sophie Dorothea had been sure that her husband would not turn back around, she, too, had bend down to kiss the top of Friedrich’s head. “I love you, mon petit. Now go and play.” Friedrich had nodded and, unsure what to say, had merely reached out to take Giacomo by the wrist and had dragged him behind him. Considering that he had harboured a dislike rather than honest interest in the other, he had not spoken a word to him. His mother had asked him to show him around, so that had been what Friedrich had wanted to do. The younger boy’s stumbled steps had resounded through the corridor, and Friedrich had continued to drag him along until they had reached the room that had acted as the playroom for the royal children. “There we are.” Giacomo had not said a word, but when Friedrich had turned around to face him there had been tears visibly swimming in the younger boy’s eyes and a cold wave had washed over the crown prince when he had realized that he may have handled him too roughly, for Giacomo had been rubbing the wrist by which Friedrich had lead him. He had not been given the chance to apologize for accidentally hurting the other, though. Before Friedrich had even managed to open his mouth, he had been roughly grabbed by his hair, pulled backwards and spun around. His heart had sank into the pit of his stomach when he had come face to face with his enraged father and Friedrich Wilhelm had raised his fist and had brought it down without saying a word. At the first hit against the side of his face it had merely been Friedrich’s breath that had hitched, he had been hit so many times that the pain of the initial hit had no longer overwhelmed him. When his father’s hand had come down a second and even a third time, however, Friedrich could not have stopped himself from crying out even if he would have tried to. He had fallen onto the ground when Friedrich Wilhelm had let go of his hair, his small body trembling from the overwhelming mixture of shock, pain and fear. “You are a stupid, useless boy, apparently unable to manage to behave yourself for five minutes.” The heavy footsteps had told Friedrich that his father had left not even a moment after he had finished speaking, the door falling heavily back into its frame. He, who had tried his hardest to hardest to prevent his eyes from filling up, had realized with a shock that there had already been tears making their way down his cheeks. Friedrich had sniffled as he had pushed himself up into a sitting position, feeling somewhat ashamed when he had looked at Giacomo, who had been sitting pale-faced and wide-eyes just a few meters away from him. “I’m sorry,” he had whispered, feeling genuine remorse for having caused pain for the younger, as Giacomo had still been craddling his left wrist to his chest. Friedrich could not have known that the reason Giacomo had been practically staring at him had not been due to the way Friedrich had treated him. “Your papà, he...”

Friedrich’s eyes had widened as well, “Your fa-ather doesn’t hit you?” The left side of his face had been throbbing bad enough to cause his breath to hitch and for his eyes to steadily fill up as he had looked at the other boy, who had vehemently shaken his head of curls. “No.” “He doesn’t?” He had known that he had sounded surprised, which he had been - his father had never hesitated to hit him, and he thus had not been able to understand why Giacomo’s father had not. “Why?” Giacomo had shrugged, “I don’t know. I know that Papà takes my brothers to his study if they’re naughty, but he’s never taken me there.” The crown prince had sniffled as he had brought up a hand to gently touch the sore side of his face again, “You’re lucky then. My father hits me every day if he can.” He had went back to looking at the floor and it had only been when he had heard the sound of the other boy moving towards him on his knees that he had looked up, a low gasp escaping him when Giacomo had leaned over and had placed a small peck onto the cheek that his father had hit. He had been so confused by the gesture that he had merely gaped at the other boy, who had been in the process of moving back to where he had been sitting on the floor before. “That’s what Mamma always does when I’m hurt,” Giacomo had whispered, a dark blush having risen into his face and he had quickly looked back down onto his obviously sore arm. “And I always feel better when Mamma kisses it.” “Thank you,” Friedrich had whispered. Whether he had simply imagined it or not, he had believed that the throbbing and the burning had indeed been less painful. He had sniffled again when he had raised onto his feet and had moved over towards a chest that had stood underneath the window, opening it and searching for something that he had believed it had contained. “Do you like toy soldiers?”, he had asked, his voice almost subdued when he had turned around to show a wooden box to Giacomo, who had nodded. Friedrich himself had never liked the toys that his father had bought for him, but he had been willing to play with them if it would help to ease his bad consciousness about having hurt the other without even realizing it. He had walked back over to where Giacomo had still been sitting cross-legged on the floor and had plopped down beside him, opening the box and tipping out its content between them. “You - You want to play with me?” Friedrich had nodded, and he had meant it. Gone had been the dislike towards Giacomo, it had been replaced with the small hope that, maybe, he would have someone to play with. Someone other than Wilhelmine. He had looked down at the heap of wooden figures before he had looked at Giacomo, “Do you want to play with the Prussians or the French?” “Oh,” the younger boy’s nose had scrunched up as he had thought about it. “You don’t have Italians?” Friedrich had laughed, “No, I’m sorry. Only Prussians or French.” “French.” The young crown prince of Prussia had chuckled as he had devided the figures into two smaller piles, “Be glad my father left.” “Why?” “He doesn’t like the French very much.” “Oh.” Once Friedrich had devided the figures, the two boys had lost themselves in their tasks of setting up representative camps and battalions. The set that Friedrich Wilhelm had aquired some time ago had been quite extensive, it contained wooden horse figures, which legs had been moveable and onto which a toy soldier could be seated, and even the guns and cannons had been made true to detail.

It would not have been a lie if Friedrich would have said that he never had as much fun playing with one of his father’s gifts as when he had been playing with Giacomo. That the younger boy had liked toy soliders to an extend that would have made Friedrich Wilhelm very happy had been easy to see, but Friedrich had found himself truly pulled into the game. They had paid extra thoroughness when setting up the small tents - each in their own camp, of course, which had firmly seperated by a fugue between to boards of the wooden floor - as well as the stables for the horses. “My men can easily beat yours,” Friedrich had said, determination thick in his childish voice as he had positioned a few of his cavalry men on the border of the fugue. “You just wait.” Giacomo had laughed as he had moved around on his knees so that he had been kneeling opposite of Friedrich, and the older boy’s smile had faded a bit when he had noticed that the other had been resting his left arm in his lap without using it while moving the figures around with his right hand only. “Does your hand still hurt?” The younger boy had first looked at Friedrich, then down at the arm in his lap, before he had answered with a whispered “Yes”. “You have to tell someone...” “Later, let’s play now.” Friedrich, of course, had not argued with that and his initial worry about having injured Giacomo had been forgotten as soon as Giacomo had asked him whether or not he had been ready for war, which the younger had opened by shooting one of the tiny cannon balls over the fugue and into Friedrich’s camp. The crown prince had commented the destruction of one of his tents by letting out a sharp war cry and thrusting a fist into the air, letting the other know that he had been ready to give his all. The two boys had lost themselves in their game of war, and it had not been long before their well thought-out formations had turned into a mess that only the two of them had managed to keep a track on. Horses and soldiers which had been “killed” during the course of their game had been spread out through nearly the entire playroom. “Ha, take this!” Friedrich had grinned when Giacomo had imitated what the two children had believed to be the last sounds of a dying man as he had knocked over yet another one of his foot soldiers. The younger boy would have long lost if Friedrich would not have acted a bit lenient towards him, just as Wilhelmine had always done it with her younger brother, but other than he had expected, Giacomo had not fallen into a tantrum when Friedrich had pushed the French lieutenant over and had proclaimed Prussia’s success. “You won,” Giacomo had repeated, quite unnecessary so, but the grin on his smile had been boyish and honest as he had watched how Friedrich had arranged his still-standing soldiers into a small parade. “I did.” “I want a return match.” “Tomorrow.” The two boys had whirled around when a third person had answered - but Friedrich’s fright had been short lived when he had seen that it had been Madame Wittenhorst-Sonsfeld who had opened the door to peak inside. “Not today?” The governess had smiled, “No, Your Highness. It is time for dinner, you two have been in here for quite some time.” Friedrich had shot an apologetic look to Giacomo, but the younger apparently had not even though about arguing with the governess.

The governess had continued to stand in the door, had watched how the two boys had scrambled onto their feet. They both had frozen on the spot when Madame Wittenhorst-Sonsfeld had gasped rather loudly. “Oh good God! Young Sire, what happened to your arm?” Friedrich had swallowed as he had looked at Giacomo, who had stood, holding his sore wrist, beside him. The feeling of remorse had returned into the pit of his stomach when he had seen how bruises had since formed around the younger boy’s wrist like a colorful band. “I... I fell.” His eyes had widened at the answer that Giacomo had given to Madame Wittenhorst-Sonsfeld, but the governess had not doubted the young boy’s meekly answer, for she had clicked her tongue as she had reached out and had taken Giacomo’s wrist into her hand to get a closer look at it. “Oh, poor dear. It should definitely be seen by the doctor,” she had clicked her tongue once more when Giacomo had winced when she had applied just the faintest of pressure onto the sides of the joints, in the years that she had worked with the royal children she had seen many injuries, and thus had known to differ a minor from a rather serious one. She had sighed, “Come along, young Sire. If you would follow, Your Highness.” The governess had planted one hand between the space of each Giacomo’s and Friedrich’s shoulders to move them along with her, and Friedrich’s stomach had clenched once he had realized that she had been taking them to his father. He had almost been dazed by the sound of his heart thumping against his chest when they had been forced to wait a few, torturing seconds after the governess had knocked at the door. For the young crown prince, it had seemed as if an eternity had passed until they had been granted access by his father’s voice. “Enter if you must.” He firmly, and wisely so, had kept his gaze casted downwards as he and Giacomo had been lead into the room by Madame Wittenhorst-Sonseld’s hands on their backs. The king of Prussia and the doge of Venice had been seated at each end of the large oval conference table, the files in front of them and the half-empty plates and étagères, as well as the jugs of beer, acting as silent witnesses of how long the two men had been working. “I apologise for the disruption, Your Majesty.” The governess had bowed her head into the direction of Friedrich Wilhelm before she had turned towards the doge, “The young Sire seems to have injured his wrist, Your Highness.” “What?” The doge had jumped up so suddenly and zestfully that he had nearly knocked down the chair he had been sitting in and had hurried over towards his son with wide strides. “_Giacomo, mio prezioso, cosa ti è successo?_” Having made no bones about ruining his breeches, the doge had crouched down to be able to inspect his son’s injury. “_Sono inciampato, Papà_.” “What happened?”, Friedrich Wilhelm had asked, his voice booming through the room and making both Friedrich and Giacomo flinch. “He fell,” the doge had retorted without turning his head around, and he had made a soft, compassionate sound when he had spotted the single tear that had rolled down one of his son’s childlike chubby cheeks. “_Fa male, no?_”

The doge had shaken his head, just once, when Giacomo had nodded, and had leaned forward to kiss his son’s forehead. “_Mio povero caro_.” “Friedrich.” The young crown prince had swallowed when his father had called him over with an ice-like voice and a finger crooked in an unmistakable order to obey. As soon as he had come to stand in front of Friedrich Wilhelm, the king of Prussia had grabbed him by the face, his fingers digging into Friedrich’s sore cheek without any consideration of causing the boy pain. “If I find out that you are responsible -” “No, I fell!” The adults in the room had been stunned by the small, though fierce voice of the youngest boy that had interrupted Friedrich Wilhelm. “I-I... I promise that I fell, Y-Your Ma-ajesty,” Giacomo had stuttered. His face had grown warm once he had noticed how the king of Prussia as well as his father had been glaring down at him, and he had gasped when his father had taken him by his uninjured wrist, had spun him around and had placed three hard hits onto his trouser-clad backside. “_Andare e ti scusi per il tuo comportamento intollerabile!_” Friedrich had watched, with eyes wide in shock, how the doge had continued to hold a trembling Giacomo by the arm as he had went on with the scolding while his hand had smacked down onto his son’s backside again and again. “_Chi ti ha insegnato a interrompere gli adulti, mentre stanno parlando?_” The doge had not hit him hard, compared to what Friedrich Wilhelm had constantly laid onto Friedrich the hits could have been described as warning pads, but they still had been enough to cause the young boy to burst into tears. Friedrich had watched in sheer disbelief - why had Giacomo helped him by lying for him? There had not been any benefit for him to lie about the fact that it had been Friedrich who had injured him, that he had not tripped and fallen, and while Friedrich had momentarily been glad that Giacomo had not given Friedrich Wilhelm a reason to beat him again, he had considering telling the truth when the doge had continued to hit his son for a short while longer. He had felt deeply ashamed, especially since Giacomo had just told him that he had never been naughty enough for his father to... The doge had then done something that Friedrich’s father had never done with him: he had drawn Giacomo into an embrace after he had finished punishing him for his misdemeanor, had kissed his son’s head while one of his hands had been running soothing circles over Giacomo’s back and had stood with him securely in his arms, taking precaution that he would not accidentally hurt the boy’s wrist any further. “I apologise for my son’s behaviour, Your Majesty.” Friedrich Wilhelm had acknowledged it with a nod, and the doge had turned his attention towards his son once more. He had wiped at the wetness on Giacomo’s cheeks and had whispered words that had only been meant for the two of them until the boy’s cries had ebbed down; he, after all, had not hit him hard, and the tears had been most likely due to the shock of it having happened than any pain. The doge had put Giacomo back down onto his own feet and had kissed the top of his head once more time. “His injury needs to be seen my a doctor.” Friedrich Wilhelm had nodded once again as he had given a sign to one of the guards that had stood in the back of the room, “Send word to my physician.” “Yes, Your Majesty.” Giacomo had been clinging onto his father’s leg in a similar to the way that he had done it when they had first arrived in Königs Wusterhausen, making it clear that he had wished to stay with him.

The drawled-out sigh that the doge had let out had unmistakably been fuelled by a heavy heart, and when he had bend down to kiss the top of his son’s head, he had lingered in the position for longer than he would have needed to. “I will come and see you later, my love. Papà needs to finish his work first.” “The governess will take care of your son,” Friedrich Wilhelm had stated rather unceremoniously as he had sat back down into his chair, gesturing towards the doge’s empty seat, making it obvious that he had wished to resume their negotiations without any further delay. The doge had stroked Giacomo’s hair a bit longer, only raising his head to throw an appraising gaze at Madame Wittenhorst-Sonsfeld, so as if he had not been sure if he could have trusted her with his son. “I promise to take good care of your son, Your Highness,” she had hurried to answer, accompanying her words with a bow of her head and the doge had nodded slowly, sighing yet again. He had not been comfortable with the idea of not being present when his youngest son would be seen by the doctor, but it had been the duties of his title that had made it impossible for him to accompany Giacomo. “I love you, _mio prezioso_.” Even Friedrich had seen how reluctantly the doge had passed his son over to the governess, and he had joined Giacomo at Madame Wittenhorst-Sonsfeld’s side when she had called him over. Giacomo’s breath had still been hitching every now and then and he had been rubbing at his reddened eyes with his uninjured hand, even though the governess’ attempt of calming him further had seemed to work. “I am sure that you two are quite hungry, are you not?” Friedrich had looked at Giacomo and had only nodded when the younger boy had done so, too. “It will take a while until the doctor will arrive and dinner is already awaiting you.” A guard had opened the door for them, “You ought to attend it first.” The governess had reached out to take Giacomo’s hand, but the boy had refused by taking a step back and shaking his head in a silent “No”. “Young Sire...” Without really thinking about it Friedrich had grasped for Giacomo’s right hand with one and for his govenerness’ hand with his other hand. Madame Wittenhorst-Sonsfeld had seemed to have been a bit stunned by Friedrich’s action, but she had merely smiled down at him before she had set into motion. “Do you have a favorite food, young Sire?”, she had asked, trying to start a conversation with the boy who had apparently been cowed by what had taken place in the conference room. Giacomo had nodded, sniffled, and answered with a low “I... like cakes with jam.” “Oh yes, cakes with jam are exceptionally nice,” the governess had said, nodding even though Giacomo had not lifted his gaze off the floor. “Shall I ask if they have any in the kitchen?” Her words had the wished effect, the child’s still red and swollen eyes had looked at her with a childlike glimmer in them, “Please?” “I must do so know that you have asked so kindly.” It had not taken long until Friedrich and Giacomo had been seated at the dinner table and had both of their faces dirtied, Madame Wittenhorst-Sonsfeld had tried to get the young crown prince to slow down, but he as well as the other boy apparently had been so starved that they had devoured the entrance and main course in no time.

“Would you two please slow down,” the governess had scolded, though her words had been in vain when she had failed to hide her smile behind her hand. In her defence, the sight Friedrich and Giacomo had given had been endearing, especially since the young prince had taken it onto himself to cut the younger’s food into bite-sized pieces. She could not have known that Friedrich had done it due to the bad consciousness that had eaten away at him. It had been his fault that Giacomo had been hurt, and it had also been his fault that Giacomo’s father had hit him - because Giacomo had lied to protect him, so much had been sure. The boys had giggled at their childlike antics, the grimaces they had made and the jokes Friedrich had told Giacomo when the servants had cleared the table off the remainders of the main course. They had both fallen silent when a plate, stacked with a few pieces of cherry jam cakes, had been put down in front of them each. While Giacomo’s eyes had grown big because he had been just served his favorite dessert, Friedrich’s had widened because he had known that it must not have been easy for Madame Wittenhorst-Sonsfeld to convince the cook to hand the cake out for them. His father had not been a fan of desserts and neither had he liked to have his son and heir eating them, and thus Friedrich had smiled almost from ear to ear when he had picked the first piece of cake up. “Friedrich?” He had not even swallowed before he had answered, “Yesh?” “Do not speak when your mouth is full, Your Highness.” “Will you play with me tomorrow?” Friedrich had turned his head to look at his governess, who had nodded and had smiled at him in agreement. “Yes.” “I like you, Friedrich,” Giacomo had said, almost casually, as he had gazed down onto the cake in his hand and thus had missed how Friedrich himself had looked at him. “Are we friends?” The younger boy had nodded vehemently, “Yeah! I’m your friend.” That he never had a friend before the young crown prince had not mentioned, but he had not lost his smile as he had taken another large bite out of the cake. They had both been on their next-to-last piece of cake when a guard had entered the dining hall and had announced that the doctor had arrived. Madame Wittenhorst-Sonsfeld had acknowledged it with a nod, and had called Giacomo towards her. The boy had taken one last bite before he had hopped off his chair and had obeyed the governess’ order, standing still as she had wiped his face clean with a cloth. “Madame?” “Yes, Your Highness?” “May I come too?” The governess had looked down at Giacomo, who had nodded. “You may.” Friedrich had underwent the same procedure of being cleaned off the stickiness of the jam and the other food that he had eaten before Madame Wittenhorst-Sonsfeld had lead both of them to the guest room that Giacomo would stay in for the duration of his stay and where the governess had been told the doctor had been waiting for them.

The king of Prussia’s physician had been a tall, stern-looking elderly man to which Giacomo had not even dared to look up at when he had been sitting at the edge of the bed while the doctor had closely inspected his injured joint. He had winced every now and then, answering to the physician’s questions with nods or shakes of his head. “It is not broken, but I advise that the sprain is rested for leastways a fortnight to prevent permanent damage.” “Am I not allowed to play?” The stern mask on the man’s face had eased up to be replaced with a smile, “I did not say that, did I?” The young boy had muttered something and had bowed his head even further, a soft blush creeping into his cheeks. “You will be allowed to play, young Sire, but your arm will be in a sling and I demand of you to not overdo it.” At Giacomo’s nod the doctor had moved over towards his bag and had searched until he had found what he had been looking for. The physician had first applied what he had called a soothing balm, made out of different herbs, onto the boy’s sore wrist before he had tightened a bandage around it. “I need you to put your arm across your chest - yes, like this. Now keep it there, please.” He had called the governess over, with a wave of his hand, to demonstrate how the arm sling had been supposed to be wrapped around Giacomo’s forearm and neck to secure his limb, as she would be the one that would redo it every morning anew, and it had not been much longer until he had been gone. Madame Wittenhorst-Sonsfeld had not even tried to hide her smile as she had taken in the young boy, who had been sitting on the bed, with his arm in the sling, looking as if he had just been told that his life had been over. She had believed him to be an uttermost adorable child and the task of caring for him on top of Wilhelmine and Friedrich had not seemed to be more work at all. Before she could have said a word, however, the young prince had made his way over towards his newly-found friend and had said down beside him. “Does it still hurt?” “A bit,” Giacomo had sniffled, though a smile had tugged at the corners of his mouth when Friedrich had nudged him in the side, gently so. The two boys had smiled at each other. “We’ll play tomorrow.” Even if Friedrich had never and should never grown to really like anything related to the military, the prospect of playing war with Giacomo had been a good one. “And maybe you’ll win,” he had said, mainly because he had wished for the tears in the younger boy’s eyes to disappear. “Yes ‘cause I let you win.” Friedrich had laughed so hard that he had nearly fallen off the bed, “You didn’t!” “I did,” Giacomo had drawled out, grinning with boyish mischief. “You wish!” They had giggled in childish delight, and when the door had been opened, the two had not even noticed it. “Giacomo.” “Papà!” Giacomo had gasped when he had seen his father, who must had watched them for a few moments from where he had been standing leaned against the closed door, and had abandoned Friedrich to jump off the bed and to run towards his father. It had been obvious that the doge had wished to embrace him, but he had hesitated when his gaze had fallen upon the sling in which his son’s arms had been resting in. “The doctor claimed that it is sprained, Your Highness,” Madame Wittenhorst-Sonsfeld had enlightened the doge, who had crouched down to take a closer look at Giacomo’s bandaged wrist. “At least it is not broken,” he had said with a sigh. “Indeed, Your Highness.”

The Italian had sighed yet again, though with a small smile on his face, when he had driven his fingers through his son’s disheveled hair. “_Cosa stai facendo per cose_, hm?” “I’m sorry,” Giacomo had whispered, sniffling once as he had nestled against his father’s chest and had wrapped his uninjured arm around him. “It is quite alright, my love.” Friedrich had watched them, and he then had been too young to understand that he had been jealous of the affection that Giacomo had gotten to feel from his father. “Come, Your Highness. It is time for you to retreat to bed.” “Madame?” “Yes, young Sire?” Friedrich had continued to look at Giacomo while he had gotten off the bed, as the younger boy had loosened himself from his father to take a few, almost hesitating steps towards Madame Wittenhorst-Sonsfield. “Friedrich will be allowed to play with me tomorrow, won’t he?” “Of course, young Sire.” The heavy feeling around Friedrich’s heart had lifted, somewhat at least, when Giacomo had grinned and waved at him. “See you tomorrow!” He, too, had grinned and waved back as his governess had began to lead him away. As soon as the door had been closed behind the crown prince of Prussia and his governess, the doge had scooped his son up and had carried him over towards the bed, where he had sat down with the boy in his lap. “Look at me, my child.” Giacomo had obeyed, and his father’s eyes had been warm and kind as they had looked down at him, “Promise to me that you will be more careful.” The boy had nodded, but when his father had shifted him in his lap in order to be able to patt his backside, he had needed to look away. “What you did was very naughty, Giacomo. You are never allowed to interrupt an adult and especially not the king. His Majesty could have gotten very angry with you.” He had sniffled, his father’s hand had still been patting his backside every now and then. “I know Papà.” The doge had sighed and had bend his head down to nuzzle his face into his son’s soft hair, pressing a kiss into it as well. “Did you have fun with the prince?” Giacomo had nodded so vehemently that it had moved his entire body, “Yeah! We played with soldier, but I lost the war against Prussia.” His father had clicked his tongue, “Now that is a great shame,” he had laughed, brushing a curl off Giacomo’s forehead. “Friedrich is my friend, Papà.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for the short hiatus, between my trip to Potsdam and a bit of a writer's block I didn't manage to finish this sooner (sigh). Also: can I just say that I _love_ to write about their daily life? I could really write an entire series about it <3
> 
> Not betaed, all mistakes are mine.

**September 1722**

The following day had been a Sunday, which had brought both bad and good news for the young crown prince of Prussia. Sundays had meant that he would be allowed to sleep an hour longer than usually and that there would be not lessons, which had been an especially pleasant fact, now that he had been in Königs Wusterhausen and under the wings of the teachers that his father had chosen for him, as those teachers, in a stark contrast to the teachers his mother had chosen, would always force him to break his mind over mathematics of finance and the different strategies of warfare for hours on end without any consideration of what Friedrich had been interested in. What he had not looked for, despite all the positive changes that a Sunday had brought for his week, however, had been the two-hour-long church service that Friedrich Wilhelm had integrated into court protocol. For Friedrich, those two hours that he would be forced to stand on his feet or kneel on the uncomfortable wooden benches in the chapel and listen to a preacher talk about things that he had never believed in had always been the most dreaded hours of his week - especially since his father had kept an even closer eye on him during the service, and the punishments for even the simplest of misdemeanors would be worse than what he usually had gotten to feel. “What is it that is on your mind, mon petit? You can tell me.” Friedrich had winced and had nearly dropped the baked treat that he had been eating when he had been adressed by his mother out of seemingly thin air. “W-What?” Sophie Dorothea had smiled where she had been sitting at the opposite head of the table, a cup of tea in her hands, and Friedrich, with his mind of a child, had not perceived just how strained his mother’s smile had been. “I can almost hear the gearwheels working in your mind,” she had said over the rim of her cup, and Friedrich had looked down at his hands. “I do not want to go.” “Where do you not want to go, my love? To play with the doge’s son?” His eyes had widened as his head had snapped up, and he had answered with quite the “No!” At the way his mother had raised an eyebrow he had hurried to reel back, lowering his voice, “I - I mean I really want to play with him, Maman. It’s not that.” Sophie Dorothea had sighed, if there had been any of the characteristics from her husband that had been present in her son, it had been the reticence. “Then what is it? Tell me, mon petit.” Friedrich, who had since brought the treat back up to nibble rather halfheartedly at it, had not looked at her when he had answered with a low voice. “I do not want to go to church, Maman. He will punish me afterwards because he thinks that I was naughty. I know that he will. He always does it...”

Friedrich had swallowed hard, picking off small pieces of the puff pastry and placing them on the plate in front of him. It had only been him and his mother wo had been left at the breakfast table, his sisters had already finished and had been gathered by their nursery maids or governesses. Since he had preferred to look at his hands instead of at his mother, Friedrich had missed how Sophie Dorothea had quickly wiped at her cheek before she had set her tea cup down onto the saucer and had repeated the action of wiping at her face. “_Viens ici, mon petit_.” Friedrich had hesitated to look up, why he had not known, but when he had seen that his mother had pushed her chair back and had been looking at him with a smile on her tear-streaked face and opened arms, he had almost thrown the treat down onto his plate and had ran over towards her. He had since grown too large to fit comfortably into Sophie Dorothea’s lap, but his mother had not considered it as she had closer her arms around her son and had pulled him up. Friedrich’s arms had wrapped themselves around her neck, the way he had held onto her, one could have believed that he had been in danger of falling to his death if he would have let go. “I am so very proud of you, my love. So proud,” Sophie Dorothea had whispered into Friedrich’s dark curls, through which she had then combed her fingers as she had tried to ignore the few littered bruises that had been scattered on his cheek, which had been an unmistakable remainder of the _attention_ Friedrich Wilhelm had paid to him the prior day. She had never fathomed how her husband, that brute and fool of a man, could have it in him to hate their son when Friedrich had never given him a single reason to. He had been just a little boy, nothing more than that, and Sophie Dorothea had been worried as for how gravely his father’s treatment would shape him in the future - and said worry had been the reason for her tears, which she usually had managed to hide in the depths of her pillow. God had known that she would not survive it if her beloved Fritz would turn out even remotely like his father. Friedrich had not answered, had merely nestled closer against his mother’s chest while she had gently stroked his hair. Moments when they had been alone had been rare, very rare, but Sophie Dorothea had not dared to demand more. She had been grateful that Friedrich Wilhelm had not decided to take him away from her for good, that her seemingly brainless husband had allowed her to take Friedrich to Monbijou, even if it had only been for the summer months. “There will not be a church service today, mon cœr.” “No church, Maman?” Friedrich’s eyes had been wide in childish disbelief when he had sat up and raised his head to look up at his mother, who had smiled down at him. “No, your father has cancelled it.” “Why?” “He and the doge met to continue their work while you were still asleep, my love.” “Oh.” The ache in Sophie Dorothea’s chest had eased a bit when a slow, almost hesitating smile had spread out on her son’s face and she had taken his face into both of her hands to kiss his forehead. “I doubt that you will be seeing him today at all. He will be very busy with his duties.”

“Okay,” the young crown prince had whispered after a few moments of silence had passed, moments in which he had allowed his mother to continue to hold his face in her hands and to pepper his forehead and cheeks with small pecks. “Prussia’s future will be so bright with you as her king, my love.” He had nodded, as he had not known what he could have answered to that, and Sophie Dorothea had allowed him to leave her lap after she had kissed his forehead one more time. “You must finish your breakfast before you go and meet with the duke’s son.” “Yes, Maman.” His mother had smiled at him, even though he had not been able to see it when he had made his way back over towards his chair. He had not really been hungry anymore. If he could have done it, he would have ran out of the dining hall to go and find Giacomo right away, but he had not wanted to disappoint his mother either, so he, with a barely audible sigh, had climbed onto the chair that had been a bit too high for a child of his age and had picked his baked treat back up. Friedrich had nibbled at it without any real enthusiasm and had set it down what could have been every thirty second to drink from his tea, which had no longer been hot enough to painfully burn his tongue. Sophie Dorothea had continued to watch him in silence. It had made him uncomfortable and had urged him to squirm in his chair, he had felt as if he had done something wrong. After all, it had not happened all that often that his mother had paid her unshared attention to him. “Maman?” “Oui, mon cœr.” “Do friends lie?” His mother had cocked one of her thin eyebrows at his question, “What?” “Do friends -” “I understood you well enough,” she had said, not having taken her eyes off of him. “I am merely wondering as for why you are asking me such a question, my son.” Friedrich had averted his gaze away from his mother’s and he had once more resumed to pick little pieces of the almost-gone treat. He would have liked to tell her that it had been him who had hurt Giacomo. Yes, it had been true that he had not meant to hurt him when he had grabbed him so rougly by the wrist, but he had done it and in a way, he had still feel bad about it. Even more so when he had remembered that Giacomo had chosen to get punished by his father than to tell the truth about what had happened. Giacomo had lied. _For_ him, not to him. “Friedrich?” He had winced when Sophie Dorothea had pulled him back into the there and then. “Would you please answer my question.” “I... just thought about it, Maman,” he had retorted with a whispering voice, his shoulders slumping a bit. “If the one you are talking about is lying to you, he is not your friend.” “He didn’t lie to me but _for_ me.” The words had escaped him before he had truly realised it, and he had nearly stopped breathing when his mother’s second eyebrow had joined the first at her hairline. “Please don’t tell Papa,” Friedrich had added and his voice having dropped even lower as he had not dared to look up, fearing that he might receive a punishment.

Silence had reigned the room for a few long moments, only interrupted by the steady ticking of the grandfather clock. To the young prince’s surprise, however, Sophie Dorothea had not bore deeper. “Be assured that I will not tell him, my love. You must never fear that I will extradite you to him.” Friedrich had nodded. “So friends can lie?” He had missed the smile that had ghosted over his mother’s face, “It is not dishonouring if someone uses a white lie to protect their friend. But one must never lie to a friends of theirs.” He had, once again, nodded, but had only raised his gaze when he had slowly, almost hesitatingly, put the treat back down onto the plate without having taken a second bite. “I’m no longer hungry, Maman.” Sophie Dorothea had sighed, smiled and had made a waving gesture with her hand, after which the servants had set into motion and had began to clear the table. She had sighed, “Off you go, then. Go and find the doge’s son.” That his mother had been amazed and filled with consternation at the same time when Friedrich’s face had been lit up with a wide smile of anticipation, the young boy had not noticed as he had drank the remainder of his tea with one big gulp and had wiped at his mouth with the back of his hand as he had jumped off his chair. “Be careful, mon cœr, and behave yourself.” “Yes Maman, I will.” Friedrich had waved at Sophie Dorothea before he had skipped through the dining hall and to the door that one of the guards had held open for him, and as the queen of Prussia had watched her oldest son leave, her smile, for the second time that morning, had not reached her eyes. Friedrich had not known where he had been supposed to find Giacomo, but the task of searching the palace of Wusterhausen had not discouraged him, since it had been much less spacious and with much less rooms than Monbijou or the palace in Berlin that he could have gotten lost in. As it had turned out, he had not needed to search for long. He had spotted Giacomo sitting on one of the decorative chairs at the end of the corridor at which Friedrich Wilhelm’s conference room could have been found. “Giacomo!”, Friedrich had called out for the younger boy, falling into a run to get to him as fast as possible. Giacomo’s head, which had been turned to the side as if he had watched something, had snapped around and the grin on the younger’s face mirrored Friedrich’s as soon as he had heard the other. “Friedrich!” “Why are you sitting here?” “My papà told me to wait here,” Giacomo had said when he had slowly gotten off the tall chair, clearly having to concentrate on the task in order to not fall off. He, after all, had been quite a bit shorter than Friedrich and with his left arm had been wrapped in the sling, he only could have used his right. “Does it still hurt?” Giacomo had shaken his head, “Not really. It’s annoying, but Papá told me not to take it off.” “The doctor said so, too.” “I know.” “Giacomo?” “Hm?” “Did your father... did he hit you again?” The younger boy had blushed and had quickly looked down at his feet. “No, he didn’t,” he had almost whispered, and Friedrich had released a breath he had not even been aware of having held in. “Do you want to play with the soldiers again?” “Yeah!” The two boys had laughed as they had grinned at each other for a moment. When Friedrich had taken Giacomo by the hand, by his uninjured one, of course, it had been very gentle.

Friedrich would not have needed to take him by the hand and guide him, but he had done so simply because he had not missed the way that Giacomo had glanced up at the deer antlers that had hung in masses on the walls off Königs Wusterhausen palace. When Friedrich had been of his age, they had scared him as well. They still had done so sometimes, especially at night, when the flickering of the candlelight would allow his father’s hunting trophies to cast frightening shadows. While they had walked, he had noticed that Giacomo had almost hid behind him every time that one of Friedrich Wilhelm’s tall guards had come into sight. Everything in this palace had been scary, at least for a boy like Giacomo who had seemed to have been easily intimidated. He almost would have made a comment about how his father would have been less than pleased if _he_ would have acted so shy and scared, but he had swallowed it down at the last moment. They had both groaned in annoyance and had exchanged an equally annoyed look when they had reached the royal playroom and had seen that it had been tidied up, most likely by a chambermaid. “Now we have to start all over again,” Giacomo had commented as he had knelt down and switched into a cross legged position while Friedrich had hurried over to the chest that had stood underneath the window. The chambermaid had put the box with the soldiers back to where Friedrich had taken it out from the prior day, and he had held it up much as if it had been his very own trophy. “Ha!” Giacomo had giggled in all of his childish delight, a laughter that Friedrich had joined in. Yes, he never had as much fun playing with someone that was not Wilhelmine and it still had been the truth that he had never called anyone his friend before. There had not been many children in Monbijou and the sons of his father’s officers had not really been the once that Friedrich had enjoyed to spend time with, for all they had wanted to do had been to play a game of war out in the woods with their wooden toy guns and hobbyhorses. “Will you play with the French again?” Giacomo had nodded, and just as Friedrich had done it the day before he had sat down beside him and had upended the box onto the floor in front of them. Deviding the soldiers into two piles had not taken long, but different from their last game they had moved into two seperate corners to set up their camps. “Friedrich?” He had looked up from where he had been putting his soldiers into a neat row, “Hm?” “We must seperate our armies.” It had been clear that Giacomo had already been fully emerged into the game again, and as if it had been all that Friedrich had needed, his eyes, too, gained a childlike glimmer. “You’re right, we need to. I don’t want you to copy my attack strategy.” The younger boy had giggled, “Noooo,” he had drawled out, “I wouldn’t do that,” and had hurried to get onto his feet when Friedrich had done the same. “What do you want to use?” “I don’t know,” Friedrich had answered, running a hand through his hair as he had looked around the room.

He had let out a confused sound when Giacomo had walked over towards one of the decorative chairs that had stood at one of the walls and had pulled it into the center of the room. “What are you doing?” Since the younger boy had only one arm to his use, it had taken him some struggle to move the considerably large and heavy chair, and Friedrich had watched, both amused and confused, how Giacomo had pressed his back against the backrest of the chair to get it into the position that he had obviously wished it to be in. “I’m building a wall,” the younger boy had said as if he had not understood as for why Friedrich had even asked him. “A wall,” Friedrich had repeated, trying to understand what the other had been getting at. “Yes.” Giacomo had nodded. “We’ll take that chair,” he had explained, pointing at the other chair that had still stood at the wall, “put it right here,” he had then pointed at a spot on the floor, “and put something over it so that we can’t see each other.” Friedrich had nodded as well, and quite enthusiastically at that. It had been a good idea. “We should do that.” He had ran to get the second chair and given his height and strength, which had both shadowed that of Giacomo, it had not even taken him half the time and effort to put the chair rougly on the spot that Giacomo had pointed at. Yes, if they would lay something over the chairs it would shield them well enough. “Wait here, I’ll go and get something.” The young prince had not waited to see whether Giacomo had nodded or not before he had turned on his heels and had hasted out of the room, taking a sharp right and running towards the wing of the palace in which his room had been located as fast as his legs had only carried him. “Your Highness!” The chambermaid that had been working in his room had yelped, out of shock and surprise, when Friedrich had thrown the door open so forcefully that it had banged against the wooden wall paneling. Friedrich had been as startled as her, for he had not expected to be met with someone. “Is there something that I can you for you, Your Highness?” “Uh...”, he had stalled, kicking one of his feet. “I wanted to borrow my blanket.” “Your blanket?” The chambermaid had looked at him in confusion, but as it had not been within her rights to comment on the crown prince’s wishes, she had merely nodded, had put the laundry basket she had brought with her onto the floor and had pulled the blanket off the bed. Friedrich had watched how the chambermaid had folded it neatly and had offered it to him. “Your blanket, Your Highness.” He had nodded in a silent thanks, had tucket it under his arm and had not wasted any more time before he had been on his way back to the playroom again. He had been really, really excited to get to play with Giacomo, even more so since he had been relieved of the prospect of being forced to spend time with his father. “What did you get?”, he was greeted by the younger boy as soon as he had closed the door behind him, and the boyish, a bit mischievious grin had returned to his face. “You won’t be able to see me through it.” With the help of Giacomo, the blanket had been laid over the backs of the chairs within a few moments. “And you won’t see me!” “No, I won’t,” Friedrich had laughed.

They had grinned at each other before they had disappeared behind one side of the makeshift partition each and had resumed to set up their encampments. While they had been devided in space, the two boys had still chattered and laughed, mostly teasing each other about the way that their army would self-evidently triumph over the other. “I let you win, Friedrich.” The young crown prince of Prussia had snorted as Giacomo, on the other side of their makeshift partition wall, had giggled. “You didn’t.” “Yes I did!” He had rolled his eyes even though he had been laughing, he had been beginning to see what Wilhelmine had meant when she had said that younger children could be annoying to play with, but when Giacomo had fallen silent after a “Then show me that you can beat me”, the annoyance that had come up at the younger boy’s behaviour had dissolved again. He had spend a few more moments getting the last of his soldiers into the attack position he had chosen, and had just finished fixing the weapon of one of the soldiers when he had perceived just the faintest sound of fabric moving behind him. Friedrich had whirled around. The blanked had still hung in the way that they had put it up, but there had been a small hand, holding a cavalry soldier on a horse, peaking out from underneath the hem. _Oh_. “Lieutenant,” Friedrich had said with a pretentiously deep voice, “it appears that... _the French_ are starting their attack early.” His gaze had switched between Giacomo’s hand and his own as he had reached for one of his Prussian soldiers. He had heard the younger boy giggling, and Giacomo’s arm had pushed a bit further onto his lands. “This is an attack!”, the younger boy had called out as he had moved his rider further forwards. There had been a mischievious grin on Giacomo’s face when he had peaked out from behind the blanket as well, “Behold, Prussian! Surrender!” A similar grin had grown on Friedrich’s face as he had shifted around on his knees in order to be able to face the other boy without having to turn around. “Never!” Giacomo had placed his cavalry man near the soldier that Friedrich had been holding before he had retreated back onto his side only to roll one of the tiny canons onto Friedrich’s fields. As Giacomo only had one arm to work with, Friedrich had the advantage of shifting his toys around much faster, and so the Prussians had stood in a firm defence before the younger boy had finished moving his troops. He, however, had renounced to attack Giacomo like he could have done it, for it had been his fault that the other had been able to merely use one of his hands, and had thus sat back and watched how Giacomo had shot the first canon ball into his camp. It had knocked over a couple of his horses, “killing” them, and he had gasped as he had looked at Giacomo. “I’m sorry,” the younger had said, though his face had betrayed him in his playful dishonesty. Instead of answering, Friedrich had quickly reached for two of his cavalry men - he could have played with two, as he had two hands to use - had pushed forward and “shot” the French soldier off the horse’s back. “I’m sorry, too.” The boys that his father had forced him to play with sometimes, the sons of Friedrich Wilhelm’s most valued officers, had been sore losers who surely would have hit him if he would not have been the crown prince, but Giacomo had merely giggled and had reloaded his canon with the small wooden canon balls.

For how long the two friends had ended up getting lost in their game, neither of the boys had known, but it had not seemed as if either of them had cared about it. It had soon became obvious that Giacomo, albeit having been three years younger, had known a lot more about the different military strategies and terminology. _My father would like you more than me_. The thought had crossed Friedrich’s mind out of the sudden and while it had flashed through his head within the split of a second, it had successfully ruined his mood. Even worse, it had brought the dislike he had harboured for Giacomo at their first meeting back up and he had swallowed quite bitterly when he had watched Giacomo playing with one of the horse figurines. As he, too, had been nothing but a child, he had not understood the confusing mixture of feelings which had risen inside of him. The younger boy had clicked his tongue to imiate the sound of hooves, cleary still emerged in the game in which Friedrich had no longer been interested in. He had made it known by grunting in what could have been interpreted as disgust and had hit the figure out of Giacomo’s hands, rather roughly at that, too. Giacomo’s head had snapped up and he had looked at him with wide eyes. If Friedrich would not have been so... confused in that moment, he would have seen the confusion and even the hurt in them. “What -” “I don’t want to play with you anymore,” he had snapped, crossing his arms over his chest and turning his face away from the other boy in a clear display of aversion towards him. “But, but...” Giacomo’s voice had been incredibly small, barely above a whisper, and since Friedrich had not looked at him, he had not seen how there had been tears swimming in the younger boy’s eyes. “You told me that -” In a surge of sudden possessiveness he had whirled back around and had hurried to take the French toy soldiers away from Giacomo, adding them to his own pile. “Those are _mine_. You’re not allowed to play with them any more.” The younger boy had sniffled and had scooted away from Friedrich. Out of the corner of his eye, Friedrich had seen how he had wiped at his face. “I - I thought you were my friend.” The young crown prince of Prussia’s face had pulled into a grimace on its own accord and in a way, Friedrich, in his mind of a ten-year-old boy, had already regretted his words before they had even left his tongue. “Well, I don’t like you anymore. I’m no longer your friend.” There had been tears rolling down Giacomo’s cheeks by the and the younger boy’s chin had trembled as he had risen onto his feet. He had stormed over towards the door without saying anything, but Friedrich had not missed the sob that had caught in the boy’s throat as Giacomo had disappeared out of the room. “Giacomo -” The door had fallen close before Friedrich had been given a chance to even finish, and a wave of remorsed flooded over him as he had looked around the room as if it could have given him an answer. It had only intensified when he had gazed at the toys that Giacomo had played with. He had not meant to... His heart had been beating strongly when he had stood up and had wiped his palms as his trousers.

As if his actions had only hit him right then, as if he had been hit by lightning, Friedrich had suddenly jumped into motion. He had ran over to the door in a very similar manner that Giacomo had done it with, had thrown it open and had ran down the corridor. Without an idea where Giacomo could have gone to, he had stopped at the main staircase, trying to catch his breath while thinking about what to do next. He had not meant it. Giacomo had been his friend, he just... It would take Friedrich some time, years, even, to realise that it really had not been Giacomo’s knowledge that had triggered his reaction, but the abuse that he had been forced to endure. “Giacomo?”, he had called out, albeit knowing that it had been in vain. Giacomo probably would not have hidden in the staircase and wait for Friedrich to find him. “Giacomo?” “Your Highness.” Madame Wittenhorst-Sonsfeld had been coming down the stair from the upper floor when Friedrich had lifted his head, and although he had known that the governess had not been something for him to fear, he had taken an involuntarily step backwards as it had became clear that she would close in on him. “Her Majesty told me that you are supposed to be playing with the young Sire in your playroom, Your Highness.” Friedrich’s shoulders had slumped and he had looked at the floor when Madame Wittenhorst-Sonsfeld had come to stand in front of him. “We played,” he had admitted, almost abashidly so, fidgeting with his hands that had hung at his sides. “And you have already finished?” “No.” His voice had been barely above a whisper and when he had remembered what had taken place just moments ago, that he had _told_ Giacomo that he had no longer wanted to be his friend when it had been a blatant lie. His governess must had noticed that he had been not on high spirits, for she had put a finger underneath his chin and had tipped his head back just enough for Friedrich to be forced to raise his gaze. His vision had been blurry when he had looked up into Madame Wittenhorst-Sonsfeld’s face. The governess had crouched down to be at an eye level with the young crown prince, “What happened, Your Highness?” “I - I got angry and... I told him that I don’t want to be his friend.” Friedrich had pulled up his nose when the finger had disappeared from underneath his chin and had brough one hand up to wipe at his eyes. “Why did you say that you no longer wish to be the young Sire’s friend, Your Highness?” “I don’t know.” It had been a whispered answer, meek and short but nothing but the truth. He had not known. Madame Wittenhorst-Sonsfeld had sighed, “Where did the young Sire go, Your Highness?” “I don’t know,” he had whispered again. “He ran away and I wanted to look for him, but I don’t know where he is.” The governess had risen from her crouched position and had eased a not-so-imaginary crease out of her dress; since it had been her duty to care for the doge’s son her next task would be to find the young Sire, whether or not she had intentionally wanted to do something else.

Friedrich had lowered his head. The young crown prince had felt as if he had been standing in front of a pile of ruins, figuratively speaking, of course. He had been angry at himself for having talked to Giacomo in the way that he had done it, he had wanted him to be his friend. After all, Giacomo had been the only one that had ever called him his friend, the only one who had truly wanted to play with him. His bad consciousness had risen to a newly-found level when Madame Wittemhorst-Sonsfeld had looked down at him with an ounce of unmistakable disappointment. Had she known that he had injured Giacomo’s arm as well? “Madame?”, he had whispered, clenching his hands in front of him. “Yes, Your Highness?” “Do you think that he’s still my friend?” The governess had clicked her tongue and had laid her hand ontop of Friedrich’s head for a moment as if it provide comfort, “We must find him first, Your Highness. I can imagine that your words have hurt the young Sire greatly.” “Yeah.” Madame Wittenhorst-Sonsfeld had sighed once more, “Come on then, Your Highness.” Friedrich had not argued when his governess had splayed a hand in between his shoulder blades and had thus moved him in front of her. While he had not known where he possibly could have started to look for Giacomo, Madame Wittenhorst-Sonsfeld had already seemed to have a first guess as she had walked them to the part of the palace which had housed the few guest room that Königs Wusterhausen had to offer. Friedrich had swallowed hard, but had failed to get rid of the lump in his throat when his governess had knocked at the door of the room he had known to be Giacomo’s. “Young Sire, are you in there?” He had clenched his hands at his sides as seconds without an answer from inside the rooms had passed. “I don’t think that Giacomo is here,” he had said, turning his head to look up at his governess with tear-filled eyes. Given the decades that she had spend working with children, however, both royal and bourgeois at that, Madame Wittenhorst-Sonsfeld had not become disheartened as fast as the young crown prince in his care. She simply had raised her hand and had knocked again, this time without addressing the young Italian, and when she had gotten no answer, had opened the door without having waited for a permission to do so. Friedrich had nearly jumped to stand behind her, and he had kept behind her as they had moved into the room as if he had expected to be scared by whatever had been in it. He had stopped following Madame Wittenhorst-Sonsfeld when he had spotted the figure that had been sitting on the edge of the bed with its back turned towards them. “Young Sire,” the governess had said as she had walked over towards Giacomo, a “tsk”ing tone underlying her words. While Friedrich had not seen his face, he had clearly heard the sobs and the hitches in the younger boy’s breathing. He had stayed close to the door and had shifted his weight from foot to foot, watching how his governess had crouched down in front of Giacomo. He had not understood what she had said to him, for Madame Wittenhorst-Sonsfeld had spoken in a voice no louder than a whisper to the boy who had obviously been without composure, whose sobs had been so forceful that they had shook his entire body. Friedrich had not known how long he had actually stood near the door before he, to his surprise, had been called over by his governess.

“If you would come here, Your Highness.” He had obeyed, of course he had, but he had not raised his gaze as he had set into motion. Madame Wittenhorst-Sonsfeld had taken Friedrich by the wrist once he had been close enough and had pulled him close, very gently of course. “So, the governess had said with a placidity that had been an unmistakable proof of just how many times she must had lead a smiliar conversation before. “What happened during your game was not what you two had wanted, was it.” Friedrich, unable to look at either Giacomo or the governess, had merely shaken. No, it had not been what Friedrich had wanted. “Was it, Your Highness?” “No,” he had whispered. There had not been an answer coming from Giacomo, the younger boy’s breath had still been hitching and he had pulled up his nose every now and then. “It is what I though,” Madame Wittenhorst-Sonsfeld had said, nodding once. “Now, Your Highness. Is there something that you wish to say to Giacomo?” Friedrich had sniffled, moved to tears by his governess’ words as well as by the faint sound of Giacomo crying, and had nodded as he had answered with a voice just as low as it had been when he had last spoken. “I’m sorry,” he had whispered, “I... I didn’t mean what I said.” Madame Wittenhorst-Sonsfeld had hummed in agreement, but Friedrich had only looked up when he had Giacomo’s small voice for the first time. “You didn’t?” The younger boy’s eyes had been red and tears had been glistering on his chubby cheeks as Friedrich had looked at him, and the crown prince had easily seen the open sadness in them. “No,” he had shaken his head, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it.” He had expected Giacomo to tell him that he was forgiving him and ready to be his friend again, but when the younger boy had merely looked back down at his hands, Friedrich’s chin had began to tremble as well. He had turned to look at Madame Wittenhorst-Sonsfeld in childish despair, but his governess had merely put a hand onto his shoulder. “Dry your tears, young Sire,” she had spoken with a voice as gentle as it had always been and had dabbed at Giacomo’s face with the handkerchief that she had pulled out from one of her pockets. “You must no longer cry.” “I’m really sorry. I... I want to be your friend, Giacomo. I do. Please forgive me.” “But... you said that you don’t like me a-any more,” the younger had retorted, sniffling quite pitifully. “It was a lie...” “Friends don’t lie.” He had remembered his mother’s words from earlier that day,_ one must never lie to a friends of theirs_, and the first tear had escaped him when he had offered a slightly trembling hand to Giacomo, “I’m sorry. Will you be my friend again?” His chest had tightened from the fear of the other turning his apology down, but his fear had been in vain, since Giacomo had slowly reached out and had taken the hand Friedrich had offered. Friedrich’s face had split into a teary and wide smile and when he had surged forward to pull the younger boy into a short embrace, Giacomo had not fought against it.

“I’m your friend,” the younger boy had said once Friedrich had let go of him again, and he had been smiling despite the redness of his eyes and the wetness on his cheeks. “Do you want to play with me again?” “Mh-hm!” Madame Wittenhorst-Sonsfield had chuckled and had stroked Giacomo’s cheek with one while she had left her other hand on top of Friedrich’s head. “Now you two, while I am glad that you are friends again I must remind you that lunch will be served in no more than an hour.” “Already?” “Yes, Your Highness. I thus ask of you to not go too far if you are to leave the palace.” “Are we allowed to go outside?” “Of course you are, young Sire. As long as you do not stray too far I do not see as for why you would not be allowed.” “Do you want to go outside?” Giacomo had nodded and when he had reached for Friedrich’s hand much like he had done it earlier, before their quarrel, the smile on Friedrich’s face had widened. Giacomo had been his friend again! The two boys had said their goodbyes to Madame Wittenhorst-Sonsfeld before they had scampered out of the room. “Where are we going?”, the younger boy had asked, a bit out of breath, as they had been running down the main staircase of the palace. “I’ll show you.” “Okay.” Whether Friedrich had liked Königs Wusterhausen or not, he had needed to admit that its ground had been perfect for him and Giacomo to play in. He had lead the other through the palace, out of the back door and when he had heard Giacomo squeal beside him, he had known that his sudden idea had been a good one. “You have horses?” The younger boy had let go fo his hand to move closer to the fence which had devided them from the grazing animals and had climbed onto the lowest of the crossbeams. “Wow!” Friedrich had done it him alike, and some of the horses had raised their heads and had looked into their direction with pointed ears. “Can you ride a horse?” Giacomo had shaken his head, “No.” A blush had crept up into his face, “Giuseppe wanted to teach me, but his horse ran and I fell off. Mamma was very scared. I’m scared, too.” The younger boy had whispered the last part of his sentence as if he had been ashamed of it, and Friedrich had understood. When he had began to learn how to ride, he too had fallen off and he had been scared of trying it again as well. But other than Giacomo’s brother must had done it, Friedrich Wilhelm had grabbed him by the front of his shirt, had hit him across the face and had ordered him to stop crying and get back onto the much too large horse. “Would you like to try it again?” “What?” “Riding.” Giacomo had opened his mouth to answer, but had closed it without having brought a single word out. It had taken him a few moments before he had answered. “I’m scared. They’re... very big.” Friedrich had smiled and had climbed down from the fence, “Wait here.” “Where are you going?”, the younger had asked, sounding a bit uncertain. “I’ll be back.” He had waited until Giacomo had nodded before he had turned around and had ran over towards the person he had spotted sweeping the ground near the stables.

The person had turned out to be one of his father’s stable workers and Friedrich’s request had been answered with an “Of course, Your Highness, I will bring it to you right away” in an instant. Equipped with a headcollar, a tether and a saddlepad he had walked back over to where Giacomo had still been watching the horses. Friedrich had come to the realisation that Giacomo must had been interested in and scared of them at the same time. He had laid the saddlepad over the fence so that it would not fall into the dirt as he had fixed the tether to the designated ring at the bottom of the headcollar. When he had looked up, he had seen that Giacomo had been watching him with wide eyes. “What are you doing?” “Come, let’s go.” “Friedrich...” “I promise that nothing will happen to you. I’ll protect you.” The younger had drawn his bottom lip between his teeth, darting a look at the horses in the pasture. Friedrich had understood his worry. “It won’t be one of the large horses. See, we have ponies, too. Do you want to try it?” He would not have forced him, and it had only been when Giacomo had nodded and answered with a whispered “’kay” that Friedrich had gestured to the gate of the pasture. “I’ll go in, you can wait outside if you want to.” He had pushed the latch aside and had opened the gate, hurring to get onto the pasture and close it behind him so that none of the horses had stood a chance to escape. His presence had earned him the attention of the horses that had been grazing near the gate. They had trotted over to him to bump their noses against his hands, clearly expecting to be given a treat or two. “I don’t have anything for you, I’m sorry,” Friedrich had laughed, stroking the bridge of their noses as he had moved towards the animal that he had already chosen. He had whistled through his teeth once had come close to it, and the elderly pony had slowly raised its head, obeying to his call and trotting over to him. “Hello, old boy.” The pony had barely reached Friedrich’s height and had been the one on whose back Wilhelmine, Friedrike Luise and Philippine Charlotte had learned how to ride. Friedrich himself had never been granted the chance of starting on such a small horse. He had put the halfter onto the pony, had patted its neck and had lead it towards the gate. The look on Giacomo’s face had no longer been as scared as it had been before. “You don’t have to be afraid of him,” Friedrich had still said as he had closed the gate behind him. “Do you want to hold him?” Giacomo had hesitated, but when Friedrich had offered the tether him he had taken it into his uninjured hand. The pony, having returned to pull out tufts of grass, had not seemed to mind whatever had been going on around him and had merely pointed his ears when Friedrich had laid the saddlepad onto its back. “Friedrich?” “Yes?” “What about the saddle?” “You don’t need one.” “What?” “I’ll lead you, and it’s much more comfotable if you do it with the pad.” “Oh.” “Do you want to climb onto the fence or do you want me to help you?” “Will you help me?” “Of course.” Friedrich had taken the tether from Giacomo and had wrapped it around the pony’s neck before he had knelt down and had folded his hand, turning their palms up. “Do you know how to do it?” “Yeah,” Giacomo had said, nodding once, and had held onto the pony’s mane as he had put his left foot into Friedrich’s hands.

“One... two...” Their maneuver most likely would have failed if the pony would have been a bit taller, as Friedrich had not been known for his strength and Giacomo, with only one arm to use, had nearly failed to keep a steady hold on the pony’s mane, but the younger boy had managed to get his right leg across the pony’s back and sit upright without accidentally falling off. “I did it,” Giacomo had breathed out just as Friedrich had raised again, and the young crown prince had smiled back at him, removing the tether from around the pony’s neck to secure a hold on it. “Just hold onto the mane and you won’t fall,” he had said, patting the pony’s neck before he had ordered the animal to raise its head by tugging at the headcollar. “Don’t make it run,” the younger boy had whispered, almost pleadingly, and Friedrich had not missed how strongly he had been holding onto the coarse hairs of the pony’s mane. “I won’t, I promise.” “Okay.” The smile on Giacomo’s face had been small and a bit strained, but Friedrich had understood. He had clicked his tongue a few times when he had started walking, and had looked over his shoulder when Giacomo had gasped as the horse had set into motion. “Just hold on. He won’t run, he’s far too old to bother, you know.” “I’m scared...” He had stopped again, “Do you want to go down?” Giacomo’s answer had come after a moment of silence. “No.” Friedrich had then resumed to walk and had made sure that he had not moved too fast, despite knowing that the pony would simply have made halt if he would have done so. There had been a reason as for why the pony had been chosen for his sisters. Out of the children’s sight and away from the hustling and busting of the court society, Friedrich Wilhelm of Prussia, the king of Prussia and Gaetano Casanova, the doge of Venice, had been taking the first break from their work that forenoon. While Friedrich Wilhelm had lit himself a pipe and had leaned back into his chair, enjoying the tabacco with closed eyes, the doge had stood to stretch his sore legs. Spending hours on end bend over files had not been something that the doge had not been accustomed to, but with his advancing age it had became a steadily less pleasant task and he thus had greatly appreciated the possibility of leaving the chair behind, even if it would not have been for more than a few minutes. His thoughts had strayed back to his youngest son - Zanetta, his beloved wife, had not been too delighted when he had revealed that he would be taking him onto his journey to Prussia. Understandably so, since the boy had undeniable been the baby of their family. The doge had heard many rumors of the way that Friedrich Wilhelm of Prussia had treated, or rather mistreated his heir and while he never would have openly expressed it, he had been shocked to find out that the rumors had been of true nature.

Busy with his thoughts about his youngest son, the doge had ambled over to the window. Just as he never would have made a comment about the king’s way of raising his son, he never would have commented on how little he had liked the palace. If once could have called it that. The floors had been made out of simple wood, nothing too spectacular, and where gilded stucco had decorated the doors and walls of his palace in Venice, Königs Wusterhausen had offered nothing. The few art pieces that had hung on the walls had been depicting high-ranking military men, and those only. The doge had hoped that it would take them no more than the estimated two weeks to set up the treaty. His wife had insisted for him and young Giacomo to be back before the winter would set in and as they had needed to come after an invitation from the duke of Bavaria, time had not been on their side. “Your son,” Friedrich Wilhelm had said, seeminly out of thin air and suddenly enough to pull the doge out of his thinking rather violently. “I have been told that he is bright.” He had nodded, turning around to look at the smoking king, “He is, Your Majesty. I am most proud of him.” The corpulent king of Prussia had grunted. “While my son is not utterly stupid he is interested in the wrong things. Art, poetry and that damned flute of his. Pah,” Friedrich Wilhelm had wildly gestured with his hands, “how will he lead an army with the skills of a flutist? God has punished me with him as well as much as with my five daughters. Five daughters, ha! I do not have enough allies in Europe to get them all married!” Having sensed that it would have been wise for him to stay quiet and let the Prussian ramble on, the doge had peeked out of the window. He had not succeeded in keeping the sound of surprise down at what he had seen. “What is it,” Friedrich Wilhelm had barked and had heaved himself onto his feet as well. It had only been due to the fact that he had already been turned back towards the window that the doge had allowed himself to smile, “It appears, Your Majesty, that your son and my Giacomo are getting along quite well.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not betaed, all mistakes are mine.

**September 1722**

The young crown prince of Prussia and the young marquis of Venice had exchanged gleeful looks when Jacques Égide Duhan de Jandun, the prince’s teacher, had made a surprised sound after having collected their parchments. “You both did exceptionally good today, I am very satisfied. Especially with you, Your Highness.” The frenchman had smiled at Friedrich, and Friedrich had allowed himself to small back, a tension building up in his chest that had always came up when Duhan had praised him. He had known that what his teacher had been doing had put them both into danger - Friedrich Wilhelm had engaged the Huguenot to teach his rebellious son in numeracy, geography and the history of the past one hundred years and had adjusted the lessons to what he had determined as necessary. Mathematics of finance and warfare strategies had been supposed to take the place at the top of the curriculum, but since Friedrich had not grown to like either of the two subjects, Duhan, in a transgression of the king of Prussia’s unmistakable order, had decided to show Friedrich to the world of philosophy and literature as much as he could have done it and had put the bothersome subjects at the very end of each day. Friedrich Wilhelm had always demanded to be given the exercises that Friedrich had completed over the course of the day and would... _discuss_ the results with his son in the evening, though it would be his fist or his cane that would to the majority of the talking for him almost all of the time._ “I dread the day that you will take my place,”_ his father had said the last time that he had talked to him. A hand had been gripping Friedrich by the back of the neck while Friedrich Wilhelm’s cane had left burning marks on his backside and the back of his thighs. _“And if it means that I need to beat you into your correct place, trust my words, boy, I will do it!”_ There had been no mistaking in how important those lessons had been to the king, even if he had never even mastered the simple skill of writing correctly, something that Friedrich Wilhelm’s two eldest children had often whispered and giggled about. “I did?”, Friedrich had thus asked the Duhan de Jandun, anxious to know what he had to prepare himself for. Mathematics had never been one of his strengths, and he and Giacomo had spend the last hour concentrating over the equations that Duhan had prepared for them. It had been the king of Prussia’s idea for Friedrich and Giacomo to attend the crown prince’s lessons together during the duration of the on-going negotiations, which had been set back by a subtile but clear threat from Austria, and the doge of Venice had agreed without objection. So the two boys had began to take Friedrich’s daily lessons together and while Friedrich had always greatly enjoyed the time that he would spend with Duhan, who had told him vivid stories from his home in France that he had been forced to leave after Louis XIV had set up the Édit de Fontainebleau, it had been even better when Giacomo had been sitting next to him.

The frenchman had nodded, had shuffled the few pieces of parchment into a neat stack and had put them into a thin leather briefcase. Friedrich had known that they would be passed on to his father as soon as he and Giacomo would be dismissed by the teacher for the rest of the day. “Indeed you did, Your Highness. I am certain that His Majesty will be satisfied.” While he had nodded, too, and had looked down at his hands, Duhan had turned towards the younger boy. “And you are very talented in numeracy, young Sire, I must say so. Outstanding.” It had not been a lie; where Friedrich had lacked the skills for equations, Giacomo, who had been three years younger than him, after all, had been adept and an incredibly fast thinker. “Thank you,” Giacomo had answered, as shy as he had always been when talking to an adult that had not been his own father. Despite having stayed at the court of Königs Wusterhausen for almost two weeks, Friedrich had been the only person that had not intimidated the young Italian and no matter how many times Friedrich would have told him that the _Lange Kerls_ had been nothing to fear, Giacomo had still flinched and hid behind the nearest by person or object every time that he had crossed paths with one of Friedrich Wilhelm’s elite soldiers. “So,” Duhan had said, sitting back down into his chair and folding his hands in his lap. “I shall believe that you two are done for today.” Friedrich had nodded, had answered to his teacher’s smile with one of his own before he had stood from the chair and had motioned for Giacomo to do it him alike by nudging him into his side. Gently so, of course, and Giacomo had looked at him for a moment before he, too, had nodded and had climbed off his chair. For the two boys, the weeks that they had spend together had not felt as long as they had been. While the days had gotten shorter, the temperatures had slowly but steadily dropped lower and the trees had turned less and less leafy, Friedrich and Giacomo had spend as much time together as it only had been possible. Sophie Dorothea had insisted that her son would participate at the family breakfast, which she had always valued, but other than that, no one had complained when the boys would keep each other as company. If there had been anything that had shown them how the days had passed on, it had been the fact that they had since been ordered to spend the hours, that they had passed at the stables and riding out many times after Giacomo had lost his fear of sitting on a horse’s back, inside the palace of Königs Wusterhausen. Thick grey clouds had hung in the sky, and the strict order from Friedrich Wilhelm had mostly been motivated by the duke having voiced out his worry about Giacomo catching a sickness during his first colder season north of the Alps. The corridors of the spartanic palace had been quite dark despite the candles that had been lit in their holders on the walls as the young prince and his younger friend had scampered through them. Their spirits had been high despite the heavy drops of rain that had hit against the windows, and they had fallen into an unplanned game of catch, running past the door behind which Friedrich’s room had been three times. Giacomo’s arm had still been in a sling, the younger had been allowed to be without it for a one or two hours every day, so if Friedrich had not ran as fast as he could have, it had been to give him a chance to catch him as well.

Their laughter had filled the otherwise silent palace, given the time of day, late afternoon, their fathers had been working and everyone else had seemed to have retreated to their rooms. When Wilhelmine had asked Friedrich if it would be alright for her to join them when they had been reading in his room a few days ago, he had declined her offer with quite the snapping tone. Giacomo had been his friend, not Wilhelmine’s. They had stopped their game when they had scampered up the main staircase for the fourth time, both out of breath and pink in the face. “Who won?”, Giacomo had asked as he had gasped for air and Friedrich had shrugged, wiping at the thin film of sweat on his forehead. “I don’t know.” With that, the question of who had been the winner had been over with for them. They had grinned at each other. Running around the nearly empty palace had been satisfying in an inexplicable way and when they had made the way to Friedrich’s room, the young crown prince had realised that his time at Königs Wusterhausen had been even more enjoyable that his past stay in Berlin if he had only ignored the ever-looming presence of his father. He never had a friend before he had met Giacomo, no one that had willingly spend as much time with him without getting bored. “Giacomo?” “Hm?” “What do you want to do?”, Friedrich had asked him once he had closed the door behind him. The younger boy had hummed to show that he had been thinking as had moved to sit on the canapé that had stood at the wall opposite of Friedrich’s bed. “Maybe you could... read to me?” The smile that had grown on Friedrich’s face may not have shown it, but it had been the answer that he had hoped for. While Giacomo had been quick with numbers, he had troubles to understand the books that Friedrich had kept in the secret stash of his room. It had been no real surprise, though, since Giacomo had been younger than Friedrich had been. When he had been seven, he had not read those books either. “I could do that.” “Oh yes, please!” The canapé had been high enough for Giacomo to kick his legs, and the younger had done so to seemingly show how excited he had been, as if the wide grin on his face had not been tale telling enough on its own. He had walked over to the fireplace in which a small fire had been burning, had knelt down in front of it and had moved the small rug aside to be able to lift two of the wooden floor boards. Strangely enough it had been Sophie Dorothea’s idea for the secret hiding space and so far, Friedrich Wilhelm had not stumbled upon it yet. He had left the majority of his books, which he had kept without his father knowing, at Monbijou, where his mother had promised that they had been safe. Still on his knees, he had turned around to look at Giacomo. “Which book do you want?” It had not been as stupid of a question as it could have been - Friedrich had read to the younger boy quite often if the chance had been given. “Hm,” Giacomo had tilted his head, his legs still zestfully kicking into the air. “I don’t know. You can choose one, Fritz!” The young crown prince had snorted, nodded and turned back towards the opening in the floor.

“I want to have my own library when I’m older,” Friedrich had said, though he must have said it too quiet for Giacomo to hear it. He had not bothered to repeat it as the younger probably would not have understood him anyway. It had not taken him long to make his choice, and with a thick, leather-bound book clutched against his chest Friedrich had hurried to close the hiding space again, so fast as if he had feared for his father to burst into the room at any moment, and had skipped towards his bed, jumping onto it with childish delight. “Which one did you choose?”, Giacomo had asked, the younger boy had been in the process of losening the lacing of his shoes. The canapé had been more than long for the seven-year-old to lie down comfortably, and he had kicked his shoes off before he had laid down, careful as to not crush his injured wrist, propping his chin on one of the decorative pillow. It had been an uttermost peaceful scene, Friedrich had come to think at a later point in his life. With the last few weak beams of sunlight barely managing to break through the thick rain clouds, the room would have been too dark for Friedrich to read if it would not have been for the oil lamp that had been lit on his nightstand. “The one about the Roman Emperors that you liked so much,” he had answered while he had shuffled around on the bed until he had been sitting with his back against the wall and could open the quite heavy book in his lap. He had taken a few moments to find the page that he had stopped reading on the last time that he had held it in his hands, but when he had found it, he had looked up to smile at Giacomo. The younger boy had still been lying outstretched on the canapé, but had since turned over onto his side and if Friedrich had not been mistaken, it had seemed as if the other’s eyelids had grown heavy. He had opened his mouth to make a comment about it, but had snapped it shut when he had remembered that Giacomo had been younger than him, so significantly younger that it had been no surprise for him to get exhausted enough to fall asleep in the afternoon. Friedrich had been sure that when he had been seven, he had been taking a nap throughout the day as well. Giacomo’s eyes had still been opened when he had began to read the first paragraph. The language had been antiquated and the sentences had been a bit too complicated for Friedrich to read them out without any mistakes at the first time - his teacher, the Duhan de Jandun, had given him the book as a gift for his tenth birthday, but there had been no objection coming from Giacomo. Friedrich had not known for how long he had read, as he had eventually lost himself in the book. He had continued to read out aloud, though his voice had slowly but steadily grown quieter until it had died down when he had heard a knocking at the door, and he had managed to hide the book underneath his pillow a mere second before the door had been opened. “W-We’re not doing anything,” the young prince had breathed out, unnecessarily so, as it had been Madame Wittenhorst-Sonsfeld that had entered his room, not Friedrich Wilhelm. His governess had looked at him, and the smile on her face had grown when she had looked over to the canapé. “I can see that the young Sire is indeed doing nothing,” she had laughed and Friedrich’s cheeks had turned a bit warm when he had followed her gaze and had seen that Giacomo had been asleep, breathing evenly. “Oh.” “You were reading, were you not, Your Highness?”

He had nodded and had moved his legs to sit criss-crossed on the bed, watching how Madame Wittenhorst-Sonsfeld had walked across the room to crouch down in front of the canapé. “Young Sire,” she had said with a low voice as she had gently shook the sleeping boy by the shoulder, “young Sire, you must wake up.” Giacomo’s breath had hitched and his eyes had scrunched up as the governess’ attempt of waking him from his afternoon sleep had been successful. The younger boy had let out a string of incoherent and unintelligible sounds as Madame Wittenhorst-Sonsfeld had helped him to sit up. Giacomo’s blond curls had been a bit disheveled and his cheeks tainted from the rest he had obviously needed. “Good morning, young Sire,” the governess had teased without any honest malice behind it, staying crouched down try and fix Giacomo’s creased shirt, but Giacomo had blushed nonetheless and had averted his eyes away from her as if he had been ashamed of having fallen asleep. “Dinner will be served in a few minutes.” Madame Wittenhorst had made a satisfied sound when she had managed to straighten Giacomo’s shirt out enough for it to bear little proof of the fact that the young boy had slept in it. “There, almost as good as new, young Sire.” Giacomo had answered with a muttered string of words that neither Friedrich nor the governess had understood and had allowed Madame Wittenhorst-Sonsfeld to help him onto his feet. With Giacomo at one hand, the governess had then turned towards Friedrich, who had still been sitting on the bed. “You must come as well, Your Highness.” Friedrich had nodded, but other than Giacomo had done it, he had gotten onto his feet rather reluctantly. Sure, his stomach had been quite empty but if he would have been given the choice between attending his dinner or staying in his room and continue reading, he would have chosen to stay where he had been. “I’m coming, Madame.” “Very good, Your Highness.” The governess had nodded and when Giacomo had pulled his hand out of her hold, she had not commented on it. In the past two weeks she had found out that the young boy had been extradordinarily shy, more so than the young crown prince or any other of the royal children had been. It had been endearing, even more so since she had very well noticed that Giacomo would practically melt if he would been in the presence of Friedrich. They had seemed to have grown quite in a considerably short time, and her heart had felt quite heavy when she had remembered their inevitable seperation. “Come, you two. There is cake waiting for you as well.” “Cake?”, Gaicomo had squealed, looking at her before he had grinned at Friedrich, whose face had lit up in a similar manner. “Indeed,” Madame Wittenhorst-Sonsfeld had said, a light chuckle underlining her words. “Though I cannot guarantee that there will be cake for you to eat if you continue to dawdle.” The governess’ pretentious scolding tone had made both boys giggle, and they had darted out of the room as soon as she had held the door open for them. Friedrich had not known whether it had been due to the fact that the doge had come to court or that his father had been working until such a late hour that Friedrich had been lucky enough to go through an entire day without seeing him, but the dinner that had been served had been less “decent German cuisine”, as Friedrich Wilhelm had called it, and more light food.

No bitter kale, fatty pork belly or tasteless green beans had been served, much to Friedrich’s relief. The only reason why he had every managed to get any of those meals down had been the cane that his father had never seemed to let go of. He had been happily eating away at a meat pie when Giacomo, who had been sitting beside him as he had always done it, had reached into the pocket of his breeches and had retrieved something which he had then laid onto the table between Friedrich’s and his plate. “I wanted to give this to you earlier but I forgot,” the younger boy had said after he had swallowed, moving his hand, which he had put over whatever he had pulled out as if he had wanted to shield it from sight. “Hm?” Giacomo had nodded, “Yeah, I wanted to give it to you.” With that the boy had pulled his hand away, revealing what he had been shielding, and Friedrich had instantly known that it had been a necklace. It had been quite unremarkable, but there had been no doubt about its value. The golden chain had been thin as it only could have been done by a skilled jeweler and when Friedrich had taken it into his hand, he had been surprised by the softness of the metal. It surely would have glided through his fingers if he would not have held onto it. Friedrich had set down the pie he had been eating to inspect the small but filigree worked out golden pendant; a rose had been engraved on one, and the letters _STA_ on the other side. “It’s beautiful,” he had said as he had offered the necklace back to Giacomo, who had only looked at him with pulled-together brows. “It’s... a gift.” “Oh.” Friedrich had felt his cheeks heating up a bit for he had thought that Giacomo had merely wanted to show it to him, and had looked down at the piece of jewlery in his hands. “Thank you.” “It means _sempre tuo amico_,” Giacomo had said, but Friedrich had not known what it meant. He had made a mental note to ask his mother later and had smiled at his younger friend as he had stashed the necklace in a pocket of his waistcoat. “Thank you,” he had repeated with a voice a bit lower than it had been before, and when Giacomo had smiled at him, Friedrich had to hold himself back in order to not hug him. _Giacomo had been his friend!_ “Don’t you want to keep it?” “No.” Giacomo had shaken his head, “Mamma gave it to me and said that I can give it to a friend.” The younger boy had resumed to eating and Friedrich had done it him alike, though in his mind, he had not really been able to concentrate on the food on the plate in front of him. It only would have been right if he would have gifted Giacomo with something too, would it not? They had eated in silence for a few moments longer, until the door to the dining hall had been opened and one of the _Lange Kerls_, his father’s favorite guards, had strode over to the table that Friedrich and Giacomo had been sitting at. Giacomo had been as frightened as always, almost frozen on his seat as he had looked at the unaturally tall man with wide eyes and a pale face. The man had cime to stand behind Friedrich, “His Majesty the King is demanding your presence, Your Highness.”

Friedrich had swallowed and had merely wiped at his mouth with the napkin in his lap before he had slid off his chair, he had felt Giacomo’s eyes on the back of his head as he had followed the guard out of the room and in all honesty, Friedrich had wished that he could have ran and hide somewhere. He had very well known just _why_ his father had demanded to see him. The guard and him had not spoken as they had walked to where Friedrich Wilhelm had been residing. It had not been his father’s study, but the conference room, and it also had not only been his father that had been present when he had entered the room with a racing heart. His mother, as well as Giacomo’s father, had been sitting at the oval table, and Friedrich had felt his heart somersault at the sight of Duhan’s briefcase on the table in front of his father. “Come here,” Friedrich Wilhelm had said, his voice lacking any softness and warmth whatsoever. He did not know it otherwise, there had not been a single time in his life where Friedrich could have remembered his father speaking kindly to him. “Yes Sir,” he had whispered, keeping his head bowed. He had been punished for looking at the ground as much as he had been beaten for seemingly having looked at his father the wrong way, so Friedrich had known that there had been a great chance that, whatever he would do, it would be the wrong thing. He had come to stand in front of his glaring father, and a few moments of uttermost silence had passed before Friedrich Wilhelm had leaned forward with a grunt to open the briefcase his son’s teacher had forwarded to him. He had kept his gaze firmly casted onto the ground as his father had read through the parchments of his lessons of the day. Friedrich Wilhelm had grunted again before he had spoken, “I see.” His father’s words had send a shiver down Friedrich’s back and had made his heart somersault all over again; for a moment he had believed that he would be sick right there and then. He had kept quiet, wisely so, when his father had seemingly shuffled through the parchment a second time. “Look at me.” Friedrich had swallowed hard and had slowly lifted his head, his eyes falling upon the cane, which had been leaned against the table leg, before they had reached Friedrich Wilhelm’s flushed face. “What is this?” He had taken a step back before he could have stopped himself, “M-My exercises, Sir.” “Your exercises,” Friedrich Wilhelm had repeated and when he had been about to reach for his cane, and Friedrich had closed his eyes in preparation - he had known that if would hurt less if he would not see it coming, Sophie Dorothea had opened her mouth to speak. “What are his results, my dear husband?” The king of Prussia’s hand had stopped in motion. “They are... good. _Too good_ to come from him.” He had roughly grabbed Friedrich by the face, and the boy had whimpered when his face had been mere inches away from that of his father. “If I find out that you manipulated -” “Stop it!”, Sophie Dorothea had hissed. Friedrich would only much later realise that it had been one of the few times that she had actually tried to stop her husband. “You may ask de Jandun yourself. How would the Duhan be able to fake what your son has written?” _Maman_, Friedrich had wanted to call out for her, on the brink of bursting into tears, but he had controlled himself. He had no other choice unless he had been eager for his father’s attention to be portrayed onto him. Friedrich Wilhelm had stared his oldest son down for a moment longer before he had pulled his hand back. “You are right, Fiekchen.”

Friedrich had gasped and had taken one, then another small step away from his father. His eyes had been wide and fixed onto his mother, who had looked back at him with what could have been shining eyes. Friedrich had not known whether it had been tears in his mother’s eyes or if the shimmer had been due to the flickering of the candles. “Boy,” Friedrich Wilhelm had addressed him once more, “it appeares that you are not as stupid and useless as I believed you to be.” “Yes Sir,” he had answered, merely because he had not known what else he could have said without risking to be beaten. “Maybe you are not utterly useless, then. Now get out of my sight.” “Yes Sir.” Friedrich would have ran out of the room if it would not have resulted in him being punished for it, and his entire body had seemed to shake when he had bowed deeply in the way that his father had always demanded it from him and had turned on his heels to walk back towards the door that the guard had held open for him - providing, for the moment at least, a bit of freedom. His heart had no longer been racing as badly when he had been sitting at the dinner table again, for Giacomo had turned around and had greeted him with a wide grin when he reached the dining hall. The table had since been cleared of the remnants from the main course and there had been two plates with the promised cake waiting for them, a sight at which Friedrich’s eyes had widened on their own accord. Madame Wittenhorst-Sonsfeld, who would have been prepared to console the young prince in case the encounter with Friedrich Wilhelm would have ended as badly for him as it had nearly every time, had expressed her relief with a short laugh and a smile. “You ought to eat it with your mouth, Your Highness, not with your eyes.” The cake had been very good, so good that both Friedrich and Giacomo ate every piece, down to the crumbs, off their plates. Considering what he would have gotten too eat under regular circumstances, and definitely no dessert, the young crown prince of Prussia had known to appreciate it despite his age. After dinner had been over with, he and Giacomo had been allowed another hour of playtime. Inside, of course. The rain yet had to stop and while the boys would have liked to go to the stables, our out to the dog kennel, they had not dared to even make the suggestion to the other. Both of their fathers had proven that they would not hesitate to punish their sons, though Friedrich most likely would have gone against the order if Giacomo’s father had been his. Friedrich Wilhelm had never delivered just light-handed hits, and as Friedrich, as well as Giacomo, had not forgotten the time that the doge had punished Giacomo for having interrupted the king, the time that Giacomo had lied to protect Friedrich, he had known that a punishment from the doge surely would have felt like an angel’s touch compared to Friedrich Wilhelm’s attention. Since they had not been allowed out and had been too worked up for reading, the two boys had retreated into the playroom to play with the toy soldiers. Friedrich had taken them out of the chest more times during Giacomo’s stay alone that he had in all other years combined, and word of it had, of course, reached Friedrich Wilhelm, who had ordered a more extended set for his heir.

How different should it have been: the hour had been up way too fast for any of their liking. Giacomo had whimpered a bit in protest when Madame Wittenhorst-Sonsfeld had disturbed them in their play to tell him that it had been time for him to be bathed and prepared for bed. “But...” “No, young Sire. There will be time for you two to continue your game tomorrow.” Friedrich had stayed silent as he had watched Giacomo. The younger boy had rarely ever misbehaved or talked back, so for him to voice out his discontent had been extraordinary. Not that Friedrich had felt any different about it. Giacomo had made that whimpered sound again, but had reluctantly stood up from where he had been sitting on the floor. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” Friedrich had said, smiling and waving his hand, when Giacomo had looked at him from over his shoulder. A small smile had shown on the younger boy’s face as well, and he had waved back, “See you tomorrow.” Friedrich could have continued to sit on the floor amidst his toys, but without someone to play with it had not been a good prospect so he, too, had stood and had left the playroom for his bedroom. He had been helped out of his court attire and had been dressed into his nightshirt by a valet, and the great surprise for the young prince had come when Madame Wittenhorst-Sonsfeld had pulled the covers back for him to slip under them and his mother had suddenly shown uo on the swell of his room’s door. “Maman!” Madame Wittenhorst-Sonsfeld had been dismissed by a gesture from the queen of Prussia, and the governess had bid Friedrich a good night before she had hurried away. The look on Sophie Dorothea’s face had been so much more gentle when she had smiled at her son and had moved across the room to sit down at the edge of Friedrich’s bed. She had not lost her smile as she had driven her fingers through her son’s curls. “I am so very proud of you, mon petit. Very proud. Monsieur Égide has told me that you did good today.” Friedrich had nodded, looking down to where his fingers had been playing with the silken fabric of his blanket. “He will never be proud of me,” he had whispered, his voice nearly failing on him at the end of his sentence due to the lump that had formed in his throat. Since he had continued to keep his gaze firmly casted downward, he had not perceived the way that his mother had looked at him. She had not denied his claim, as she had known that no matter how heartbreaking it had been to hear such a statement from her own son, he had been right. Friedrich Wilhelm had seemingly carried an image of how his son had been supposed to be in his mind and had been unwilling to stray away from it, had been unable to see that Friedrich had his very own abilities and talents. With her second son now born, Sophie Dorothea had feared for him as well. Her mother’s heart had already been broken by the fact that her two beloved eldest children had been the targets of her husband’s hate. “What else did you and Giacomo do today, my love” Sophie Dorothea had asked after having cleared her throat, not stopping the caressing motion of stroking Friedrich’s hair. “We played.” “That is nice,” she had leaned down to kiss his forehead. Silence had come up between mother and son until Friedrich’s eyes had widened a bit and he had sat up abruptly - he had almost forgotten to show her the gift!

“I need to show you something, Maman!” Sophie Dorothea had cocked an eyebrow at her son’s behaviour, but had not commented on it. Friedrich had folded the covers back and had nearly jumped off the bed to run over to the short chest of drawers, kneeling down to open the bottom drawer. His mother had merely made an amused sound when he had taken a few moments to open a small wooden box and retrieve what he had wanted to show her. Once he had gotten it, he had, without closing the drawer, skipped back towards the bed. “What do you have there?”, she had asked, gesturing towards his clenched hand. “Maman?” “Yes, my love.” “You will not... tell him, will you?” Sophie Dorothea’s breath had caught in her chest Friedrich’s question, she had hoped that she had managed to heal the wounds that Friedrich Wilhelm’s treatment had caused, and it had became more and more appearant that she had not. She had turned further towards her son and had taken his face, his beautiful face that she had seem bruised too many times, into her hands. “Mon cœr,” she had spoken with a low voice, “you ought to never be afraid of me reporting to your father, do you understand?” He had nodded, and she had removed her hands after having kissed his forehead again. “Now, what do you want to show me?” Friedrich had looked down at his hand when he had slowly opened it, revealing the necklace. Sophie Dorothea had followed his gaze. She had taken the necklace out of her son’s palm when he had looked at her with a clear intention for her to do just that. It had been a fine piece of jewelry, undoubtedly expensive, and she, for a moment leastways, had wondered whether or not it had been one of her necklaces that she had lost, though had discarded that thought after a few seconds. No, it had not been one of hers. “Giacomo gave it to me. He said that it’s a gift, Maman.” “Oh, that is very nice of him,” his mother had answered, and the smile on her face had been a proof for the truthness of her words. She had then taken the tangling pendant into her fingers to look at it closer. “He said that it says...” “Sempre tuo amico,” Sophie Dorothea had finished his sentence, and Friedrich had nodded. “I don’t know what it means.” “Always your friend.” The necklace had been given back to him, “I believe that you have found a true friend in him, and he in you, my love.” “Yes, he’s my friend,” Friedrich had nodded, securely holding the piece of jewelry in his closed fist again. “Maman?” His mother had nodded. “I want to give him something too but I don’t know what.” For a moment he had worried that he had done something wrong when Sophie Dorothea had stood up, but she had taken his worry away as if she had sensed that it had been there. “I will be back in a moment, my love. Wait for me here.”

Friedrich had, of course, stayed put and sitting on the bed as his mother had walked out of the room. He had not known why, but he had simply needed to look at the necklace that Giacomo had given him. It had been the first gift he had ever received from someone that had not been a member of his family or one of his teachers, and he had been so scared of losing it. It could get lost if he would simply put it on his nightstand, right? And if he would hide it in the stash that his books had been in, it surely could slip through the cracks of the wood. Sophie Dorothea had been indeed back rather fast, and just when Friedrich had been about to ask where she had gone she had opened her hand and had revealed a necklace dangling from it. “I am certain that Giacomo will like it.” Friedrich’s eyes had grown wide and had stayed fixed onto the piece of jewelery as his mother had said down beside him again. She had taken his left hand, had turned it over and had placed the necklace into the palm. The young boy’s mouth had hung open and he had looked up at her before back down at his hand. The necklace had been golden as well, but instead of a simple golden pendant, a pear-shaped blue diamond had hung at it. “You must give him an adequate gift if he is your friend. To remember you by, my love.” “Thank you.” She had smiled, once more marvelling at the fact that her boy had turned out so different than his father. “You are most welcome,” she had kissed his temple. “Now, it is time for you to sleep.” Friedrich had nodded and had put the diamond-adorned necklace onto his nightstand before he had stood once more to put the other back into its hiding place. Sophie Dorothea had smiled the entire time, even when Friedrich had not seen it, and she had reached for the blanket to cover her son once he had laid down onto his pillows. “Good night, mon petit. I love you.” “I love you too, Maman.” Friedrich had closed his eyes when his mother had leaned down to kiss his forehead and stroke his hair one more time, “You are such a sweet boy, Fritz. Such a sweet boy.” “Maman?” “Yes?” “When will we go back to Berlin?” The smile on his mother’s face had faltered, but she had tried to not let it show. “Soon, it will be soon.”

~

Another week had passed, autumn had fully arrived and Friedrich had waited for Giacomo in front of the playroom where they had met all so often, but when the younger boy had walked towards him, Friedrich had been taken aback to see tears in his eyes. “Papà said that we’re leaving tomorrow,” Giacomo had whispered once he had reached Friedrich’s side. He had sniffled and wiped at his nose with the back of his hand, and it had not only been Giacomo’s eyes that had been wet. Friedrich’s vision had grown blurry from one second to another - in the weeks that they had spend together he had not thought about the fact that Giacomo had only been a guest, that he would eventually have to leave again. He had not wanted him to leave, he had been his friend! “You’re leaving?”, he had whispered in disbelieve, sniffling as well. “I don’t want to - to leave,” Giacomo had said, and his breath had hitched when he had roughly wiped at the wetness on his cheeks. “But when I told Papà he - he said that I must.” Friedrich had pulled up his nose. It had been so unfair! He had turned around and had opened the door to the playroom, into which Giacomo had followed him instantly. “You’ll still be my friend, right? You won’t forget me?” The next thing he had perceived had been Giacomo’s arms wrapped around him. “I’ll never forget you. You’re my friend, Friedrich.” Friedrich had hugged him back, and they had held onto each other for a short moment before they had broke apart. They had played with the toy soldiers like they had done it countless of times before, but Friedrich had found himself unable to concentrate on the game. Giacomo would be leaving. He would be leaving Königs Wusterhausen for Munich, as Giacomo had casually told him. Friedrich had not known when, or if, he would see him again. What would he be supposed to do when he would have nothing that he could read to - Wilhelmine had much rather wanted to read on her own than listen to her little brother - or attend his lessons with? No one that would play with him like this? “Giacomo?” “Yeah?” “We’ll stay friends, right?” The younger boy had nodded, and Friedrich had very well seen that he the other been playing with just as little enthusiasm as he had been doing it. “We can write letters. And I’ll ask Papà if you can come and visit me at home, in Venice.” Friedrich had nodded as well, a bit of his worry easying away. Giacomo would still be his friend, he had fully trusted that. “Or maybe you can come here again.” They had smiled at each other, and when the younger had, once more submerged into the game, shot a canon ball into his camp, Friedrich had believed that it would all be alright. He had not bothered to ruminate about how; playing with Giacomo had been more important to the young crown prince of Prussia.


	5. Chapter 5 - 1734

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know how, but I somehow wrote this chapter in record time xD 
> 
> Not betaed, all mistakes are mine.

**September 1734**

Friedrich had only barely stopped himself from hitting the wall with his balled-up fist when the door to his apartment in the Berliner Palace had fallen shut behind him. The crown prince of Prussia had paced around the spacious parlour with furious laps. The nerve of that... _woman!_ If Friedrich would not have since mastered the art of keeping his feelings and especially his temper under control, he surely would have snarled everything he had though about her right there in the salon for the entity of the court to hear it. The only person on earth that he had hated more than his unwanted wife had been his father. Elisabeth Christine. How he could have shuddered at her name alone. He never would have married her, let alone speak more than a single word with her if it would not have been his only option to return to Prussia and to keep his title. That woman had been dull, uninteresting and pathetically trying to gain his favour from the very first moment that they had met. Friedrich had detested her, even if she would not have formed a bond with her father. Nearly everyone had known that Elisabeth Christine and Friedrich Wilhelm had regularly send each other letters, she had boasted about it openly and with a _very_ annoying voice every time that_ His Majesty the King of Prussia_ had been mentioned. Friedrich would not have been surprised if she would eventually get pregnant and give birth to a half sibling of him, if all, he would have been glad about the opportunity for the rumours about their marriage to. And as if Elisabeth Christine’s relation with his father had not been bad enough she had constantly and _vehemently_ tried to put herself into the centre of court life. Her laughter had been worse than that of a goat, her jokes had been as stupid as her face, but of course the courtiers had laughed at them. They had been as pathetic as she had been, always darting gazes over to him, eager to see if their behaviour had made him notice them. If only they had known that if he only could have, he would have banished them all. He had made a sound of disgust as he had sped up the pace that he had been storming through the parlor with. Since he had returned from his imprisonment in Küstrin, not a day had passed without his mother annoying him. When Friedrich had been younger, when he had been a child and helpless against his father’s truly horrific abuse, he had believed that Sophie Dorothea had tried to protect him when she had brought him, as well as Wilhelmine, to her court in Monbijou, when she had allowed him to act out against Friedrich Wilhelm’s order by taking flute lessons, learning French and studying philosophy. Yes, there had been a time in his life when he had believed that his mother had been the stark opposite of his father, but as it had turned out, Friedrich Wilhelm and her had not been so different. It had taken Friedrich a while until he had managed to accept that his mother had _deliberately risked_ and eventually _accepted_ what his father had done to him as long as it would allow her to go after her goal of marrying him and Wilhelmine off to her relatives in the British royal house.

Friedrich had paced around the parlor for only God had known how long, but when the rich Venetian carpet under his feet had began to blurry into a vertiginous mess of colors, he had ceased his pacing and had moved to stand in front of one of the large windows that the room had to offer. A look outside had provided him with no pleasure. The sky had hung in a dark grey despite the hour of day barely having reached three in the afternoon and the heavy raindrops, which had pattered against the window panes, had filled the room with a monotonous sound. He had breathed in deeply, had kept the air in his lungs until he no longer could have done so before he had exhaled slowly and had unclenched his hands. Elisabeth Christine had not been worth for him to spend his time brooding over her. Eight more weeks, fifty-six more days until his beloved Hans would have been dead for four years already. For Friedrich, those four years had felt like an entire lifetime. My God, how he had missed him. He had swallowed hard and had averted his gaze away from his blurred reflection in the window when the presence of his lost love had stood on his mind like a projection, so real that, for a moment at least, Friedrich had believed that he could hear his soft laugh behind him. His eyes had closed as his head had lowered on its own accord, the suppressed memories hitting him with their full force. Four entire hearbreaking years. Two hundred eight weeks, one thousand two hundred sixty days, thirty-four thousand one hundred seventy-six hours. More or less, of course. Who had been keeping count? Friedrich’s eyes had still been closed when he had tightened his arms around him without beeing really aware of doing it. He had missed him. The wound of his loss had not healed, and he had known that it would most likely never heal. In a way, he had been alright with it. Maybe it would prevent him from forgetting his Katte, his so dearly beloved Katte... whom he had gotten killed. If he only would have submitted more, if he only would have allowed his father to beat, humilate and push him to the verge of suicide further, Katte would not have needed to lose his life on the scaffold. Even if his father had not wrote it to him the evening before Katte’s execution, Friedrich would have known that it had been his fault. Katte had not needed to die. Keith had been hanged in effigies after having been successful in his flight to England, but from the letters that Friedrich and him had exchanged, he had known that he had been as alright as he only could have been. His friend had promised to return to Prussia upon the death of the notorious king. It had been a fate that his beloved Katte had deserved as well. As painful as it may have been to know him hidden away in a small French village, it would have been a hundred times better than for him to be beheaded because of something that Friedrich had done. Katte had tried to stop him when he had told him that he would risk a flight to England, that he could no longer live near his father and that he would hang himself if he would stay. His beloved Katte had tried to convince him to discard the idea, but had eventually given in. It had been his fault. Friedrich had wiped at the wetness on his face as soon as he had noticed it, and he had gotten choked up with a surfacing sob when he had repeated the wiping motion with both of his hands.

Katte had been dead for almost four years and the brightly burning pain, which had filled out Friedrich’s chest from the very second that he had heard the sickening sound of the steel blade cutting through flesh and bone, had since ebbed down to more of a steady throbbing reminder of what he had lost on the 6th of November, 1730. A shudder had went through his body when another sob had build up in his chest, shaking him to his core, and he had been even more glad that he and Elisabeth Christine had seperated apartments for he had known that he would not have managed to keep himself under control if that goddamned woman would make another comment about his lost love. “It is what he deserved,” Elisabeth Christine had said with a disgustingly presumpuous tone when Friedrich and her had been taking a walk through the royal garden. _“His Majesty has acted right, and if His Majesty would have wanted to, he easily could have hanged, drawn and quartered instead of just cutting off his head.”_ Friedrich, who had agreed on the walk merely because he had believed himself to be forced to, had pulled his arm away from her in disgust, had grimaced and had snarled that she ought to fix her pockmarked gob before she would dare to speak to him again. It had been the last time that he had talked directly to her. He had no longer addressed her, had spoken to her through a third person and it would have been a blatant lie if he would have said that it had not been absolutely satisfying to see an embarassed blush on her face when whispers would break out about the way that he would openly show his unmistakable dislike of her. She may have been his wife and the future queen of Prussia, but Friedrich would make sure that she would never be able to live to what she had aspired to. He had since somewhat distanced himself from his mother, had made it clear that he could not forgive her for what she had done. Sophie Dorothea had seemed visibly moved when Friedrich had confronted her, and she had been in tears when he had left her. She had written and still wrote him many letters in which she had asked for his forgiveness and even if Friedrich would have tried to deny it, he had loved her. After all, the little happiness that he had in his childhood had been due to her doing. When his father should die, Friedrich would arrange for his mother to be of a higher rank that Elisabeth Christine, if he would not have divorced her by then. Albeit he had no longer been shaken by sobs, the wetness on his face yet had to dry. He had tasted the saltness on his lips and the tears had tickled him under his chin, but it had not felt wrong to let them out in the privacy of his rooms. Eight more weeks and another desperate year would be over. Another three hundred sixty-five night out of which only a small handful had not revolved around his Katte. Some of his dreams had been real enough for Friedrich to believe that he had truly heard his voice again, had truly felt his arms around him and the beating of his heart when he would lay his hand against Katte’s chest. “I never believed that I would meet someone like you,” the Katte in his dream had repeated every time, and it had been the words that Friedrich had carried in his mind at every hour of the day. “I love you, my Sanssouci.”

He would be met with the heartbreaking truth every time that he would wake up: Katte’s heart had no longer been beating where his body had been laid to rest in Wust, and Friedrich would feel his touch as little as he would ever hear his voice again or hear him play the flute. _“There is nothing to forgive, I die for you with joy in my heart!_” Friedrich had just been twenty-two years of age, but he had already felt as if he had already lived through the prime of his life, which, in a way, he had. There could never be someone like Katte, Friedrich had not wanted someone like Katte, for that person could never be Katte. His shoulders had slumped and he had lifted his head to look out of the window again; it had still been raining and in a way, Friedrich had been glad for it as well as for the darkness of the sky. He probably could not have dealt with a beautiful autumn afternoon with his world of feelings as messed up as it had been in that moment. He had stared outside, fixing his gaze onto a random spot just so that he had something to look at, and he had turned on his heels before his eyes had moved. The letter. Friedrich had still kept it in a drawer of the commode, but had rarely ever taken it out as it would reopen the wound in his heart every single time that he had done so. He had given Wilhelmine the portrait that he had of Katte for the same reason - he had not beared to look at it. His sister had promised to keep it safe and that he could have it back whenever he had wanted to. Every now and then Friedrich would regret that he had send it away, but considering that he had still been living at the same court as his father, the painting had been better off in Bayreuth. Friedrich Wilhelm surely would ordered for it to be destroyed if he would have found it just as he had destroyed Friedrich’s library, happiness and life. He had retrieved a handkerchief from the pocket of his trousers and had blown his nose as he had walked over to the commode, and had put the piece of satin fabric back into its place before he had opened the lowest button of his waistcoat to be able to crouch down without ruining it. The drawer had been difficult to open, as it had stayed closed for the majority of its time, and Friedrich had grimaced when he had eventually managed to pull it open with a loud squeak of protest from the unoiled wood. His hand had hovered over the folded piece of paper in hesitation, trembling with the presage of the emotions that he had known would be set free if he would read it. He had read it countless of times before, but only a few mere times after Katte’s unjust death. That he had known the words by heart had not made it any easier for him to read them in Katte’s handwriting. _I am aware that I may be hard for you to understand, but Friedrich, I have been in love with you ever since you have shown me to your favorite glade. You played the flute, do you remember? You played to beautiful, but not even the most perfect one of your written pieces could have been more beautiful than you have been that day. I have wanted to kiss you right then, I have longed to reach out and take your equally beautiful face into my hands and kiss you. My God, it is what I wanted to do. I am also aware that I am risking our friendship by writing this to you, but I fear that I must send it out for I am no longer able to love you in silence of my mind alone._

Friedrich could have recited them all without having a single look at the inked words and yet he had needed to take a deep breath as he had reached for the letter. However, it had not been the feeling of the expensive writing paper that had caused the breath he had just taken to caught in his throat, no, it had been the small inconspicious wooden box that had come to light when he had lifted the piece of paper. My God. Had he forgotten about it? No, but Friedrich had managed to suppress those memories far more successfully than those of Katte. He had looked between the letter in his hand and the wooden box resting on the bottom of the drawer and had, with another deep breath, carefully set the letter aside to reach for the box. With it Friedrich had raised from his crouched position and had moved to sit down in one of the nearby armchairs. His heart had raced in his chest, it had been years since he had last taken it out, and his lips had squeezed into a thin line as he had lifted the top off the box to reveal its precious content. The golden necklace. A short-lived smile had ghosted over Friedrich’s face when he had felt the extraordinary softness of the precious metal in his palm and had toyed with the pendant between his thumb and index finger. He had marvelled at the detail that it had possessed as if it had been his first time seeing it, and had absentmindedly stroked the embossed letters on the back of the pendant. _STA. Sempre tuo amico. Always your friend._ Giacomo. He had snorted without any real humour and had shaken his head once as he had realised just how much time had passed since those September weeks at Königs Wusterhausen. Twelve years. A lifetime, really. He had leaned futher back into the comfortable armchair, allowing himself to give in to the memories that had been so much more bright than those that he had lingered on before. The time that he had spend with Giacomo had been one of the happiest of his life. It would have been a lie if he would have denied it - his childhood had never been more carefree and as a child, he had never been happier than when he had spend his days with the younger boy and oh, how devestated he had been when he had woken up and Madame Wittenhorst-Sonsfeld had silently told him that the doge of Venice and the young marquis had left at sunrise. Giacomo had been his only friend, and years had needed to pass until he had met Keith and eventually his beloved Katte. To his own as well as to his mother’s and governess’ surprise, they had kept in touch after Giacomo’s departure. They had build up a steady correspondance, had send each other more letters and gifts than Friedrich could have counted even if he would have wanted to and had kept in touch for years. Out of all the sudden, Friedrich’s heart had suddenly been heavy again. Yes, they had indeed kept in touch with each other for years, had grown up from boys into young men and had, despite not having been granted the chance or opportunity to see each other for a second time, solidified their friendship and had accompanied each other in their process of growing up. Friedrich had not only lost Katte as a consequence of his attempted flight: the last letter between Prussia and Venice had been send out in August of 1730, just days before he had desperately tried to flee from his father’s abuse.

During the last year that he and Giacomo had stayed in contact, the letters had come into and went out of Berlin palace in secretive actions as Friedrich Wilhelm had intensified the “attention” that he had paid to his unruly eldest son. The situation had only made worse when his first escape plan, the one that he had wanted to risk in Dresden, had come to light and Friedrich Wilhelm had began to blame Giacomo for his son’s misbehaviour. It had been a stupid accusation, as Giacomo had never suggested or initiated something as risky as an attempt. Everything that Giacomo had suggested had been that he could have asked his father for a permission to come to Berlin, but to Friedrich Wilhelm, it had not mattered. The king of Prussia had prohibited any contact between Friedrich and Giacomo and even if he would have wanted to, sending a letter to Venice from Küstrin would have been impossible. He had thought about it, of course, but he had been so utterly broken by the fate that Katte had been forced to meet and the beatings that he had received as a part of his daily routine that he had casted the idea aside rather fast and once he had been released from his imprisonment and had returned to Berlin, he had not dared to send a letter. What could he have said after nearly two years of silence? It had pained him greatly that Giacomo must have thought the worst of him. He had been his friend, and Friedrich had lost him because of his mindless actions as well. Sighing audibly, Friedrich had stroked over the letters on the back of the pendant one more time, _STA_, before he had gently put the necklace back into the wooden box. It had been a piece of that he would have worn without a second of doubt, but he had feared for the fragile chain to break and thus had decided to keep it safely stashed away instead. He had stood from the armchair with a groan. Katte’s letter had joined the necklace in the drawer of the commode without having been unfolded and read. Beside his grief for the loss of the man he had loved, there had been futile hope residing in his heart - the hope that he would someday be able to rekindle the friendship between him and Giacomo, who had been the first friend Friedrich ever had. He had wondered whether or not Giacomo had kept the necklace that he had given to him as a gift, considering the way that their friendship had come to an abrupt end Friedrich would not have been surprised if he would have gotten rid of it. Had Giacomo been hurt by it? He had not known, but he could have imagined. He certainly would have been hurt if it would have happened to him. Friedrich had wondered how he had managed to force him out of his consciousness for such a long time, but he had guessed that with his grief of having lost Katte - he had written to Giacomo just how much he had loved him, as the younger had been the only one he had trusted enough to reveal it - and being forced to wed the oaf that Elisabeth Christine had been, he simply had not wanted to let even more pain into his consciousness. Pain had pulled through his life like a treat, be it physical or emotional, and if Friedrich would not have since found the hope of someday being freed from it, he surely would have ended his existence by then. There had been enough opportunities to do so, and God, he had thought about it many times.

Friedrich had sighed, a bit more audibly that time and had fixed an unruly strand from his wig back behind his ear. Life at the court of the palace in Berlin had terribly worn him out. All he had wanted, for the rest of his life, preferrably, had been to live in small palace, even a large house would have done it, away from noisy and hungry-for-power courtiers. At peace, able to do what he had always wanted to do. Music and art, philosophy and ancient history. He had found a love in everything that his father had detested and with Wilhelmine married off to the margrave of Brandenburg-Bayreuth, he had no one that he could have shared his interests with at court. Friedrich’s heart had been so heavy, so utterly and painfully heavy, and he had not known what to do about it. There had not been a healing remedy that could have eased his pain. Upon his return to Berlin, he had tried to soothe it. Oh, he had tried it countless of times, but no matter how much wine and what different mixtures of French powders he had consumed, the pain in his chest had not eased up. It had taken him months until he had been able to pick up his flute without bursting into tears because all he had been able to think about had been the flute lessons that he and Katte had attended together, the furtive gazes that they had exchanged and the way that their knees had bumped together every now and then. God, he had loved him so much. The shiver than had crept up Friedrich’s spine had triggered him to straighten his posture, an art that he had internalized. Pretending. It had been what he had done every single day, what he had been forced to do his entire life simply due to the fact that he had not been allowed to be the man that had existed behind the regulations of court protocol. His life had been a humorless joke, and it had been even worse since Friedrich had known it very well. What had he left? Nothing. There had been no one for him to love - no one alive at that, and no one that he could have befriended at the Berliner court. Friedrich had pressed his lips together and had fixed the buttons on his waistcoat in the tall mirror, he much rather would have liked to stay in his apartment but his missing presence would have not gotten unnoticed for long and while his father had no longer been able to beat him, he had not been eager to be told off. He had smirked at his reflection in the mirror. Friedrich Wilhelm had gained so much weight and had been plagued by various diseases in the recent year, both which had eventually forced him to sit in a wheelchair, that all Friedrich would have needed to do in order to get away from him had been to take the stairs. He had shot one last appraising look into the mirror before he had turned around and had strode through the parlour, his mind occupied by the man he had loved and lost and the boy that he had wished he would have still been friends with.

Sophie Dorothea had been sitting at one of the round gaming tables of the salon when a guard had opened the door for him to enter. She had smiled at him, but he had not smiled back. If all, he had to control himself in order to not snarl at her and his posture may have been a bit too straight when he had walked across the room to reach her side. “Mother,” Friedrich had said with a voice as flat and unenthusiastic as it only could have been and had leaned down, a bit forced, to kiss her cheek. His mother had a deck of cards in her hands and her dog, an annoyingly yapping little French, in her lap. She had still been smiling all so sweetly when he had pulled back, and it had cost Friedrich a lot to not comment on it. He had wondered whether her remorse about what she had forced her two eldest children to go through had been of a true nature, but had strongly doubting it. “Where have you been?”, Sophie Dorothea had asked him next, fanning herself in a manner that only worsened Friedrich’s mood further. “Your wife had told me that you left in a hurry.” He had clenched his jaw for a second before he had answered, “I was needed elsewhere,” and had failed to resist the temptation of adding a biting comment. “My _wife_ was perfectly fine in the presence of _His Majesty_, but I am certain that you are already aware of it.” The smile on his mother’s face had faltered, barely noticably so, and Friedrich had turned away before he could have allowed the nagging feeling of unease to eat away at him. He had almost perfectly ignored the whispers that had seemed to have filled the air of the salon as he had swiftly moved through it, eager to get to the door. If he would have been honest with himself in that moment, he would have admitted that the chances of his father and Elisabeth Christine being... _something_ had been slimmer than Friedrich Wilhelm had ever been. His father had been too religious to give into the sinful urges, as Friedrich Wilhelm had called it, and he had known that he had loved Sophie Dorothea too much to keep a mistress at his side. Sophie Dorothea may not have loved him back with the same passion and had even explicitly requested for him to take another woman for his enjoyment, as she had been tired of being mounted like a broodmare to bear him one child after another, what she had complained about to Friedrich many times. The crown prince of Prussia had sighed audibly as he walked around yet another corner of the corridor. A glance out of the window had told him that it had still been raining and despite the bad weather, Friedrich had already decided that he would not stay inside. His mind had been working hard enough to make it impossible for him to do anything else, and he had done a quick detour to his apartment to retrieve an umbrella before he had, using the servant’s passage, exited the palace out of its back door. He had wished to be alone, without any valet or flock of courtiers following his every step, and while he had know that it had been a breaching of protocol, he could not have cared less about it. Protected by the umbrella and trying not to step into the deep puddles that had formed on the gravel path, Friedrich had set out en route for the pleasance.

The silence had been heavenly. No repetative and halfheartedly played music, no chatters and no pretentious, obnoxious laughter. It had just been the sound of the rain falling onto his umbrella and the sound of his feet moving over the wet gravel, and the longer he had walked, the calmer the storm in his mind had became. Friedrich had not known why the memories of his beloved Katte had hit him so hard that day, and his vision had grown blurry with tears when he had been swept away by another tidal wave of grief, heartbreak and despair from one second to another. He had missed him so dearly. Pulling up his nose, Friedrich had tilted his umbrella back and had turned his face towards the sky. A few drops of rain had landed on his face, and despite a momentarily worry about the powder, he had not cared about it. He never would have imagined that he would eventually spend his adult years as lonely as he had been in the past two years. He had been lonely at Küstrin, too. Of course he had been, but it had been a different kind of loneliness. The two years that he had spend imprisoned at Küstrin had been the most lonely years of his life, and when Friedrich had tried to think back to them, he had great troubles of recalling the sheer amount of time. Anger and grief had ruled him and at the same time had enabled him to even live through the strict protocol that his father had set up for him in order to get him reeducated - it had been a differed kind of loneliness, and Friedrich had stopped in his tracks when he had unintentionally admitted to himself that he, in a way, had been more alone at the Berliner court. Why he had felt so he had not known, maybe it had been due to the fact that there had been people he _could have_ gotten friendly with but had chosen not to do so. He had wished that he would have had someone to which he could have talked about Katte to, his beloved Katte of whom he had been so afraid of forgetting even the smallest memory of. It broken his heart, but sometimes Friedrich had doubted whether or not he had still remembered the sound of Katte’s voice. And while it would have been a lie if he would have said that had not missed being close with someone else, in every aspect, he had doubted that he would ever be able of letting another person into his space. Even if he would - they would most likely leave his life rather soon, considering that Friedrich had clinged onto his lost love. He had shaken his head as he had looked away from the sky again, forcing himself to stop brooding when he had resumed his walk. It would not do. Katte would have still been dead, no matter if he would break his mind over it or not. He still would have been alone. “What a life you have,” Friedrich had snorted, his words just as humorless as his laugh had been. There had not been much for him to see in the pleasance on that September afternoon. The flowers had since lost their glory, the leaves on the trees had been losing their color and except for him, no other seemingly had dared to set a foot outside. The crown prince of Prussia had walked, to where and for how long he had not really known for as long as his legs had moved, and he had only stopped in his tracks when he had realized where he had walked to.

He had not moved into the stable. Despite the bad weather, the workers had been moving in and out, carrying hay and fodder or sweeping the floor and even though Friedrich had not been amused, he had needed to smile. When Giacomo had stayed in Königs Wusterhausen, they had spend hours in the stable after he had succeeded in relieving him of his fear of horses. _“You don’t have to be afraid of him. Do you want to hold him?” “Friedrich?” “Yes?” “What about the saddle?” “You don’t need one.” “I’ll lead you, and it’s much more comfortable if you do it with the pad.” “Will you help me?” “Of course.”_ Considering his childhood, those had been the happiest times for him and my God, had he missed them. Before the contact with Giacomo had come to an abrupt end, Friedrich Wilhelm had often commented on how pathetic it had been for Friedrich to still call the young Italian marquis his friend. But Giacomo had been his close friend; the extensive letters which they had written each other, had not only spanned over a recalling of their most cherished memories together. The other had developed the same love for music and philosophy, for literature and art than he had, but other than he, Giacomo had been supported in his interests. The doge had allowed his son to travel, be it to Rome, Paris and even England while Friedrich Wilhelm had not even allowed Friedrich to attend to an evening at the Berlin palace alone, for the king of Prussia had not wanted to allow his unruly heir a second away from his ever-controlling presence. No matter where Giacomo had went, however, Friedrich had gotten a notice of it. There had not been a single time where Friedrich had not received a detailed report of the travels that Giacomo had went onto, almost so as if Giacomo had known that he had been desperate to know how the world beyond Prussia’s boarders had been. Sometimes, there had even been small presents attached to the letters. Friedrich had lost most of them in the aftermath of his attempted escape. With that in mind, he had not only feared, but had _known_ that Giacomo must had been thinking the worst of him. _If_ he still had been thinking about him. He had sighed, suddenly very wearily, and had turned away from the stables. His heart had been heavy and so had been his mind, he had wished that he would have been able to stop himself from replaying the words and images in his mind for they had only shown him how much he had lost due to his own actions and decisions. Friedrich had kept his gaze fixed onto the ground before him instead of at his surroundings while he had walked back towards the palace. The monotonous sound of the rain landing on his umbrella had enclouded him, somewhat at least, and even if the urge to give in to the tears burning in his eyes, Friedrich had vehemently forced them down. He had not wanted anyone to see them, as his tears only would have made them _talk_. As he had been walking the seemingly endlessly long way back he had considered whether or not he should simply sit down and write a letter to Giacomo as the first step for a possible rekindling of their friendship, but had discarded that idea almost as soon as it had come up. What could he have written, and even if he would have came up with something, where should he have sended it to? There had been no way that he would have known if Giacomo had still been residing in Venice. He could have moved anywhere. Friedrich had tightened his hold on the umbrella. He had been alone, and it had been no one’s fault but his own.


	6. Chapter 6 - 1742

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not betaed, all mistakes are mine.

**September 1742**

There had been a time in Friedrich’s life when he had believed that he, once his father would have taken his last breath, would have everything that he had ever wished of having, and the realisation that he, in the end, had nothing, had been devestating. Friedrich Wilhelm had been dead for over two years and Friedrich had been crowned as the king of Prussia, and yet he had felt as if he had nothing. He had been just as lonely as he had been prior to his father’s death, with the exception that he had then been free to play his flute in relatively public. Keith had kept his promise, as Friedrich had kept his, and had returned to Prussia and to Friedrich’s service. They had still been friendly with each other, but the years apart and with merely a scarce contact had put a strain on their friendship even if they had tried to prevent it. Keith had since gotten married and if Friedrich would have been honest enough with himself to admit that he might have, in the past, harboured feelings for the older man, he would have known as for why he, seemingly all out of the sudden, had felt quite distanced from him. _You ought to get over it_ Wilhelmine had written to him in a letter after their father’s funeral, _you must forget it unless you wish to end up being a man like he had been_. What had he been supposed to get over? The fact that Friedrich Wilhelm had abused him ever since the day that he had taken his first steps? That he had purposely hindered him from having an innocent and protected childhood? That Friedrich Wilhelm had executed Katte solely because the Lieutenant and his apparently unwanted son and heir had been more than close friends? He had made his displeasure known by writing a rather insulting letter to Bayreuth before not responding to any of Wilhelmine’s letters for the following month, but in the end, Friedrich had to admit that his sister had been right, for he himself had noticed how embittered he had gotten as he had done nothing but sitting in his study and, beside fulfilling his duties, had done nothing but think about how unjust everything that had happened to him in the past had been. If there had been a fact that had truly lifted his mood despite his heartrendering loneliness, it had been the fact that he had no longer been forced to live together with Elisabeth Christine which had made his life considerably better. He had inofficially dismissed her from his court as soon as he had gotten the news that his father had finally succumbed to his many illnesses, had ordered her to reside in Schloss Schönhausen while had moved his court to Potsdam, away from her and the unpleasant memories that had been attached to it.

His father had been dead, his oaf of a wife gone from his court and the relationship between him and his mother had, slowly but steadily, recovered from the fact that she had played Friedrich Wilhelm’s game in a very guileful way. Life could have been good and compared to what he had already lived through, it had been. He had been able to live in relative peace, had, as the king of Prussia, the freedom to study what he had already wished to do as a child: music, literature, philosophie. Johann Joachim Quantz had helped him to perfectionise his skills with the flute and Friedrich had spend the majority of his leisure time playing by himself or in the presence of his teacher until he had established his daily concert, to which he had solely allowed a handful of his most trusted courtiers to attend. His most valued library that Friedrich Wilhelm had sold off once he had found it in the aftermath of his attempted escape and the court case that had followed had not only been as good as restored, but had grown to be even more extensive and exclusive. He had had it all, and yet his life had been mournfully empty, something that he had realized every night that he had laid in his bed alone with only his dogs at his bedside. His lost love had been watching over him from where Friedrich had hung his portrait on the wall, and he had stared at it for so long that he had found himself unable to tell how Katte had gestured, how his lineaments had moved and how his laugh had sounded, as the features, frozen in oil-based paint, had never changed, no matter for how many hours and how longingly Friedrich would stare at it. There had also been a time in his life when he had wished that the dreams, which had haunted him a few years after Katte’s execution, would stop. Back then, not a single night had passed in which he had not dreamed of his beloved Hans, and the majority of the dreams had not even been bad ones. He had not bothered to count how many times he had found himself in the glade of the forest where he and Katte had secretly met as the tension between Friedrich and his father had intensified - and in his dreams, Hans had always been waiting for him. Oh, he had always been waiting, had always smiled at him and had always walked towards him with wide strodes through the high grass until he had been close enough to embrace him. _“I have been waiting for you, my Sanssouci,”_ Katte would say, and it had always been the same words. He had seemed to alive, so real, that Friedrich, upon waking up, had often wondered whether or not he had visited Katte the afterlife. The thought of him having done so had caused him to burst out into tears just as many times - it had been so peaceful, and it had not happened seldomly that he had longed to join him there. While there, on one hand, had been the happy dreams, there had been horrible ones on the other. As if seeing Katte die one time had not been bad enough, Friedrich had been forced to relive the incidents in nightmares which had sometimes even refused him to wake up. The sight of Katte dressed in a simple white shirt, his shoulders bared as an unmistakable hint at the fate that the older man would be meeting. Katte on his knees, his eyes shining with unshed tears while his last ever smile had ghosted over his face. The glittering of the blade in the early morning sun, followed by the sound of it cutting through air, flesh and bone.

Yes, there had been a time when Friedrich had wished that those dreams would have stopped. But twelve years after Katte’s death, he very much would have liked to start dreaming of him once more. It had happened rarely then, that Katte had still visited him, and in a way, Friedrich had felt as if he had been losing him all over again. It had been especially heartbreaking when he had realized that he had since grown older than Katte ever had the chance of becoming, and the memories with him, be it in the forest of the music room at the palace in Berlin, had seemed a lifetime away, turning grey with every year that had passed by. He had been utterly scared of forgetting him, for Katte had been the only one that he had loved, and who, most importantly, had ever loved him back. Friedrich had sighed and had rolled onto his side from where he had been lying on his back, the covers kicked down to his thighs. It had been of no use if he would have continued to try and force himself to sleep, he only would have ended up going through another sleepless night. He had gotten a few mere hours of sleep in the past few days, his mind had always appeared to be restless when summer had blurred into autumn and his inability to sink into Morpheus’ arms had only been worsened by the bright silver light that the full moon had casted into his bedroom. The portrait of Katte had been the first thing that his eyes had fallen onto when he had turned onto his side, and Friedrich had forced himself to look away from it with a sigh. He had heard a high-pitched whine from beside his bed and had shuffled closer to its edge until he had been able to look down, a small smile growing on his face at what he had seen. Three of his most beloved Italian Windspiele had been allowed to sleep in his bedroom, and one of it had defied sleep and had looked up at him with wide eyes, wagging its tail and whining in order to get his attention. Friedrich’s smile had widened, and he had moved his pillow to sit up against the headboard before he had patted the mattress beside him. “Come up, then.” The dog’s ears had pointed up and it had taken a few steps back to be able to jump onto the bed, instantly cuddling up against Friedrich’s leg and rolling over onto its back, unmistakably demanding to be pet. Friedrich had hummed in agreement and had pet the soft skin of the dog’s belly. “You need that, do you not?” The dog had stayed on its back but had stretched its neck to look at Friedrich, its tail still wagging happily, and Friedrich had snorted, trying to stay quiet in order to not wake the other dogs. “I cannot sleep either. That makes us two then.” He had pet the dog’s belly for a bit longer until the dog had rolled over yet again and had jumped into his lap instead, licking at his face. “Yes yes,” he had chuckled, “you are very dear to me, too.” Being able to pet the relatively small animal had somewhat stopped the gearwheels in his mind from turning, though he had known that they would most likely resume turning. He would be traveling to Berlin the next day to attend to one of the festivities that Sophie Dorothea had all so often initiated where she had resided in Monbijou palace.

While his royal court had been notorious for the distinctive lack of female presences, regarding any sorts, his mother’s court had, of course, been quite the opposite. And even if Friedrich not only disliked, but downright detested the noblewomen who had seemingly been ready to give their all in order to get his, or any of his brothers’s, approval and eventually an invitation into his bed, he had been no more eager to meet some of his siblings. The only one of his brothers that Friedrich had somewhat gotten along with had been Heinrich, whom he had granted a stay in Rheinsberg ever since he had moved out to claim his crown and titles. Friedrich’s smile had faded when he had remembered that it would most definitely not only be Heinrich and August Ferdinand who he would be meeting, but August Wilhelm as well. The fact that August Wilhelm had been a spitting image of the late Friedrich Wilhelm had been on everyone’s lips. Courtier or servant, minister or lieutenant. Everyone had known that the prince of Prussia had not mirrored Friedrich Wilhelm with his looks, but entirely with his behaviour. The last time that Friedrich had met him, he had smacked him across the face in front of their mother, siblings and manservants for snarling a curse of insults at Wilhelmine. It would have been a lie if he would have said that it had not been satisfying to see his brother’s face drained of color and cradling his sore cheek - Friedrich Wilhelm had rarely ever laid a hand upon his favorite child, _his beloved August_, and thus Friedrich had not been plagued by a bad conscious about what he had done. He had continued to pet the dog in his lap, but had leaned further back against the headboard and had turned his face towards the opened window. The temperatures had been unusually warm for September, and the billowing courtains had told of the pleasant breeze that had flown into his room. Friedrich had sighed wearily. It surely would have been nice to have someone at his side again. Katte, his beloved Katte would not return to him, not in this lifetime at least, and Friedrich had believed himself to be ready to allow another into his space, even if a part of his heart had still and would always belong to his Lieutenante. He yet had to meet that someone, however, and he had somewhat doubted that he would ever succeed in findin them. There really had not been a trigger as for why his mind had strayed back to revive _those_ memories, but from one moment to another they had all been back in front of his inner eye. He had snorted when he had seen Giacomo, utterly cowed, hiding behind his father’s leg and staring at him with wide eyes again. Really, had he been that frightening as a child? It had most likely been Friedrich Wilhelm that Giacomo had been afraid of - understandably so. His hand had stilled in motion, but as the dog had dozed off on his lap and thus had not minded at all. Giacomo. He had not seen him in twenty years and the contact between them had been cut off twelve years ago. _My God_, he had thought, _where did the time go_. Whether it had been pathetic or not, he had still missed him. Giacomo had been someone who had understood him, who had shared his interest and who had been an honestly interesting person. He had known that he should have written him as soon as he had gotten the chance to, as soon as he had been freed from Küstrin. He should not have let their friendship go to waste.

It had been useless brooding since his mind had merely repeated the same memories over and over again as if it had been trying to find something in them. A hint, maybe? Friedrich had not known, and he had sighed as he had changed into a more comfortable position, carefully lifting the dog off his lap and laid onto the mattress beside him. Despite his best tries to be gentle, the dog had stirred awake, had stretched and had hopped off the bed to join the others on the floor. He had clicked his tongue, but had smiled down at the small bundles that had cuddled together on the rug by his bedsite. At least they had been there, if he would not have had his Windspiele the loneliness probably would have been unbearable. A morsel of comfort, yet better than nothing. He had sighed again as he had plopped back down onto his back and had ran his fingers through his hair to busy himself. There had been so much going through his mind that he would not have been able to find sleep even if it would not have been for the unusually warm temperatures. Friedrich had swallowed hard as he had stared at the canopy above him. He had missed so many things in his life: someone that he had loved and who had loved him back, someone who would have liked to spend time with him because they wanted to, not because they had seen it as a duty to the king of Prussia. Friedrich had missed to have someone in his life to whom he would have been no one but Friedrich, someone who would not be afraid to tell their honest opinion while engaging in heated conversations about philosophy or... anything, really. Katte had been dead for twelve years and he would not be coming back to Friedrich, no matter how hard he would wish for it. God, had he missed for it. Runnind his hands over his face, he had turned over onto his side, facing away from the window and the portrait that had hung next to it._ “I let you win, Friedrich.” He had snorted as Giacomo, on the other side of their makeshift partition wall, had giggled. “You didn’t.” “Yes I did!” “Then show me that you can beat me.”_ It had been fragments of memory, ones that may not have been especially meaningful and yet Friedrich had not let go of it. There had not been a time in his childhood when he had been happier as when Giacomo had stayed in Wusterhausen for a bit over two weeks in the autum of 1722. Friedrich had closed his eyes as he had reached for the thin blanket and had pulled it up until it had covered him up to his chin. When Morpheus’ arms had finally opened for him, he had sunken into them with a heart full of autumn memories and prolonged grief.

~

“Mon cœr, how happy I am to see you again.” Friedrich’s mood had already been far from good when he had gotten into the carriage that would bring him to Monbijou palace, and it had only worsened when he had set foot onto the courtyard and had been greeted by what must had been the entity of his mother’s court. He had answered to their dutiful and greetings and praises of his name with a mere nod of his head while he had needed to give it his all in order to not snarl at the group of noblewomen, who had eagerly whispered to each other behind their raised fans while throwing tale-telling looks into his direction. _Disgusting_. If a dog would have told them that it could give them ten thalers more a month, they would have gone to bed with it as well. He had walked past them with a steady pace and straightened posture, showing them that he had not only been not interested, but utterly disgusted by them and their mannierism. If it would not have caused a scandal that Friedrich would never have been able to contain within the boarders of his lands, he would have snarled at them about just how litte he had been interested and that he would have preferred their husbands, brothers and sons over them. But so he had kept quiet and his chin almost provocantly raised as he had taken the stairs into the vestibule of the palace; Keith and his closest servants had followed him and had acted as somewhat of a devider between him and the courtiers that had set into motion to follow behind as wll. His face had only softened when he had heard the laughter and fast footsteps approaching him - and before he could have really prepared himself, August Ferdinand had already ran up to him and had thrown himself around his eldest brother’s neck. If Friedrich would have been as strict in regards to court protocol as their father had been it, he would have needed to scold the boy for hugging him in public, for running and for laughing too loud. If Friedrich would have acted like this, Friedrich Wilhelm would have beaten him unconscious. But he had not been his father. Where hard creases had dominated his face just moments ago, a wide smile had then spread out. His youngest brother had still been laughing and Friedrich had closed his arms around him to be able to lift him a bit into the air, much to August Ferdinand’s enjoyment. The last time that Friedrich had seen him had been at his twelfth birthday in May, where he had gifted his youngest brother with two of the puppies from the most recent litter. “I missed you,” August Ferdinand had muttered into his chest, and Friedrich had leaned down to haste a kiss into the boy’s ginger curls. “I know, I apologize for not having enough time to see you more often.” It had been a white lie - while his duties had consumed the majority of his time, he would have been able to visit more often, but it had been the thought of spending more time at Sophie Dorothea’s court that had made it easy for him to come up with the lie.

Friedrich had smiled down at August Ferdinand as the boy had losened his arms from around his waist to grin up at him, and had petted his brother’s curls while the people around them had whispered at the king of Prussia’s behaviour. Good God, he had been so glad that his father had succumbed before he had been able to ruin his youngest sons’s childhood as well. “How are Hector and Paris?” “They’re okay,” August Ferdinand had shaken his head full of curls, “but Maman said that they musn’t leave my room as long as you’re here.” Friedrich’s brows had pulled together, but he had not made the biting comment that had rested on his tongue. “Where is Mother?” “In the salon. Friedrich?” He had nodded. “I’m happy you’re here.” “I am, too.” It had, once more, been a lie, but it would have been not fair of him to said to the boy that had nothing to do with his displeasure and so he had kissed the top of August Ferdinand’s head before he had straightened and motioned for his entourage to follow him again. Other than the Berliner Stadtpalast, Monbijou had not been laced with bad memories. The summers that Friedrich had spend there, away from his father’s strict regiment, had been moments of lights in his otherwise dark childhood. If only he had known by then that his mother would, someday, be on Friedrich Wilhelm’s side as much as she would be playing on his... “I will come and see you later, Ferdinand. Trust my words.” His brother had nodded, a childlike, incredibly hopeful smile present on his face and Friedrich had allowed himself to smile back prior to having turned towards Keith. He had spoken a few cut-off words to the valet, and Keith had nodded, turning on his heels to walk off while Friedrich had resumed to strode through the vestibule en route to where he had known the large salon had been, his entourage following his every step. He had found his mother doing what she apparently had done for the majority of her time, even more so since Friedrich Wilhelm had died: sitting at the large gaming table in the salon with half a dozen other nobles while at least thrice as many courtiers had stood around and watched them. “Mon cœr, how happy I am to see you again.” Friedrich had nodded in acknowledgement of her words and had answered with an “So am I”, even if both he and his mother had known that he had not meant it, and he had swallowed when he had been strangely touched by the way that her smile had faltered almost melancholy. The game of cards had been ended immediately, and the air of the salon had seemed to buzz from the excited murmurs that had broken out when Sophie Dorothea had announced that it had been time for the festivities to begin. Friedrich had watched the courtiers disappearing through the double-winged door and there had been a hand on his arm just as he had been about to leave the then empty room as well. “Friedrich.” He had clenched his jaw, had turned around and had looked at Sophie Dorothea with an unreadable expression. “If you would excuse me, _Mother_,” he had pulled his arm free from her grasp with a hard tug, turning away from her, “I must refresh myself.” He had only managed to take a single step before a pair of hands had closed around his upper arm yet again. “Please.” Sophie Dorothea’s voice had been unusually quiet, and so vulnerable that it had startled Friedrich into turning around even though he really had not wanted to give in to her that easily. Twelve years had passed since he had found out. He had still been hurt.

His breath had nearly caught in his throat when he had spotted the tears that had stood in his mother’s eyes, and he would have taken a step back if she would not have been holding onto his arm. “What can I do for you to forgive me for what I have done.” “Mother -” “Don’t you dare lie to me and say that you have already forgiven me!” Friedrich’s mouth had snapped close and his heart had somersault at the snarl that Sophie Dorothea had directed at him - she had rarely ever done so. She had shaken him where she had been grabbing his arm, but despite the fact that her grip had been on the verge of being painful, her entire demeanor had spoken of despair instead of anger. “Do not think that I have not noticed how much you have distanced yourself from your family,” she had went on, continuing to shake him. “You rarely ever write to me and you would not have come today if I would not have let you know how much Ferdinand wanted to see you.” Friedrich had swallowed hard, his mother had been right. He had distanced himself, had used the duties of his crown as an excuse where it, in truth, would not have hindered him, and he had needed to look away when the first tear had rolled down Sophie Dorothea’s cheek. “What more must I do for you to forgive me, my love?” Friedrich’s eyes had fluttered close as his vision had turned blurry from one second to another. He still had not looked at her, he could not have looked at her. “Friedrich -” “Why?” His voice had been just as low as his mother’s had been moments ago, “Why did you chose his side over mine?” Sophie Dorothea had let go over his arm, but only to reach for her handkerchief in order to dab at the wetness on her face. “It is not,” he had been cut off by a shaky intake of breath in mid-sentence, “an answer. You knew that -” “Do you think it was that easy?” He had clenched his jaw as he had turned raised his head to look at her, “I knew that all you would do would be to look for excuses! Oh, I am supposed to forgive you for ruining my life? I do not think so!” Sophie Dorothea had not answered right away as she had continued, in a futile attempt, to dry the tears on her face and if Friedrich would have looked at her, he would have seen that she had been trembling on her feet. A few heavy moments of silence had passed, and Friedrich had been about to storm towards the door when she had spoken again. “I am so very sorry, Friedrich. So, so sorry.” He had wiped at his eyes, angry at himself for having failed to suppress his tears. Sure, he had still been hurt and incredibly disappointed, but... oh, he had deep down loved his mother. Of course he had. “Maman...” He had not known when he had last called her that and not “Mother” and he had wished to step forward and embrace her, though had not dared to do so. Friedrich had felt his throat closing up when Sophie Dorothea had taken both of his hands to squeeze them. “I tried to make him stop, please... believe me that I tried. My actions did not matter, he would have done what he did to you regardless. I am sorry that I failed to protect you as I should have done it as your mother.” Friedrich’s heart had thumped strongly against his rips as he had been met with the realisation about how wrong his behaviour had been.

Yes, she had lied to him and had tried to thread a marriage with an English princess even though she had known that it had been against Friedrich Wilhelm’s explicit wish and she had also not stopped trying once it had became clear that the mad king of Prussia had began to blame her tries onto Friedrich instead of her. But it had also been her who had initiated his forbidden flute lessons, who had hidden away his instrument from his father’s fury. It had been her who had worked on Friedrich Wilhelm until he had allowed her to take their oldest son to Monbijou over the summer, who had enabled Friedrich to live in peace, even if it had been for a relatively short time only. It had been his mother who had all so often dried his tears and soothed his pain that he had suffered from after having received his father’s attention, and it had also been his mother who had continued to write to him during the years that he had been imprisoned in Küstrin. God had known that she had it anything but easy, compared to her Friedrich had been lucky with his arranged marriage. Elisabeth Christine may have been an oaf and an insufferable woman, but his mother had been forced to marry a man like Friedrich Wilhelm. Tears had been leaving Friedrich’s eyes freely by then, and when he had looked up, Sophie Dorothea had been smiling at him despite the fact that she yet had to stop crying herself. “You - You have not failed,” he had whispered, his breath hitching, and he could have smacked himself for not having asked her sooner. “Do not say that, you did the best you could.” “I should have tried harder.” She had clicked her tongue as she had brought a hand up to gently cup it against Friedrich’s cheek, who had instantly leaned his face into her touch, “You suffered more than anyone I have ever known, Much more than I ever could.” “Maman...” Friedrich had no longer been able to restrain himself, and he had nearly jumped forwards to wrap his arms around her and hide his face in the crook of her neck. In that moment, he had been anything but the king of Prussia - and he could not have cared less about it. “It is me who is sorry, please forgive me for -” “Hush, mon cœr. It is not you that needs to ask for forgiveness. You have done nothing wrong.” “I abandoned you despite everything that you have ever done for me,” he had whispered, utterly ashamed. “A-And not only you, b-but Ferdinand, too.” Sophie Dorothea had made an approving sound as she had ran a soothing hand over her son’s back while the other had been resting in the back of his neck. “He was very happy when I showed him your acceptance letter to my invitation.” “I am sorry -” “I know that you are, but there is nothing for you to be sorry about.” He had squeezed his eyes close when he had felt her lips against his temple, “I would have loved you even if you would have said that you would not forgive me for my mistakes.” “I love you, Maman.” “I love you the most, Friedrich. You were always so very precious, and it is such a shame that your father never saw it.” Friedrich had tightened his arms a bit more around her, only losening them after Sophie Dorothea had kissed his temple once more. “Go and refresh yourself, my love. I am certain that you do not want to miss the evening now.” “Did August come?” “No, Luise Amalie recently suffered from a miscarriage and is too weak to travel.”

“I was not aware that he is not attending tonight.” “No, you were not.” Sophie Dorothea had looked at him in like she had done it all so often when Friedrich had still been nothing but a young, abused crown prince, and her touch had been just as gently when she had reached out to stroke his cheek with the back of her fingers. “But we would not have been able to talk if he would be here.” She had, once more, been right. “No,” he had thus answered, “but you cannot blame me for distancing myself from him.” His mother had paused for a moment before she had spoken, and Friedrich had known that he had not just imagined the hint of sadness that her voice had been touched by. “You are right, I cannot. But you are both my sons, and I love you all the same.” Friedrich had snorted, a humorless sound that had escaped him without intent. “Even if he is acting like _him?_” “You are no parent, Friedrich. It is normal that you cannot understand the love a mother has for her child.” He had nodded as he had been unsure what to retort it had only been after Sophie Dorothea had smiled at him again that he had left the salon. On the way to the room that had always been reserved for him, Friedrich had realised that he had been incredibly glad for having came after her invitation. Albeit a bit uncomfortable, the conversation between them had been much needed. His mother had not been getting any younger, neither had he, and the thought that had flashed across his mind had been an exceptionally frightening one: if they would not have talked today, the chances of them never having done so would have been very high. Considering how embittered Friedrich had been and, in parts, still had not let go of it completely even after their conversation, it very well could have stayed a hopeless situation between them. He had sighed and had ran a tired hand over his face when he had closed the door of his room behind him. Keith had, as Friedrich had ordered him to, taken care of the belongings that he had brought with him and had arranged for them to be brought to the room while he had been with his mother. Two of his valets had helped him out of the clothes that he had been wearing and had dressed him into his evening attire before he had dismissed them, and Friedrich had lingered in front of the mirror for a little while longer, trying to order the many thoughts which had been constantly repeating in his mind. He should have talked to her sooner, and in a way, there had still been a lot of questions that he had, and most of it had been in relation to his father. Friedrich Wilhelm had been dead for over two years, and Friedrich yet had to come to terms with the memories that had haunted him to this very day. He would not have been surprised if they would never leave him. Having taken one last look at himself in the mirror before he had left the privacy of his room for the ballroom, where he had known his presence had been awaited.

“To His Majesty, our gracious king!” The courtiers had applauded and the air of the spacious room had been filled with the sound of glasses clinking and called-out praises to Friedrich’s name. Considering that it had been Sophie Dorothea and not him that had initiated for the evening festivities to take place, the whole theatre could have seemed unnecessary if it had not been demanded by court protocol. Friedrich had raised his glass in an answer to the various toast that had been dedicated to his name and titles in the course of the last few minutes, and it had also been only after the wave of his hand that the orchestra had began to play the first piece of the evening. “I cannot stand them.” “I know that, my love. You never did, not even when you were too small to express yourself properly,” Sophie Dorothea had said over the rim of her glass, and Friedrich had managed to suppress his sigh by taking a big gulp from the drink in his hand. The wine had been rich in taste, dark in color, and had carried an array of flavors that had done its expensive price tag justice. “They are... brainless morons.” His mother had chuckled as they had watched the dancing crown from where they had been standing on at the edge of the crowd on a slightly raised platform, “It is not their duty to have brains that they can use.” The king of Prussia had smirked when Heinrich and Anna Amalie had giggled behind him, and he had turned around to face them, greeting them with a honest smile. With August Wilhelm and Friederike Luise being the only ones of his nine siblings that he had never gotten along with, his mood had been considerably lifted - they both had not came after Sophie Dorothea’s invitation. “Where is Ferdinand?”, he had asked, taking in the shrugs of their shoulders before he had looked at his mother, who had seemingly only then noticed that her youngest son had not been standing with them. “I have seen him just moments ago,” Sophie Dorothea had said, looking around the ballroom with narrowed eyes. “He could have gone back to his dogs.” Anna Amalie had shrugged again, “You know how much he adores them.” Friedrich had nodded and turned back towards his mother, but other than he had expected her to react Sophie Dorothea had only shaken her head, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. It had been moments like these when Friedrich had realised that his father had been truly dead and gone, not due to the crown and titles that he had carried. He had sighed in an exaggerated manner that had been meant to be played, “I must find him, then,” and had stepped down the platform. The courtiers had stopped dancing to form a passage for Friedrich to move through, bowing their heads when he had passed by them. Friedrich had heard his youngest brother before he had even seen him - the fast footsteps and carefree laughter on the upper floor had been unmistakable. It would have been so different if Friedrich Wilhelm would have still been living. “Ferdinand?”, he had called out, taking two steps of the staircase at once. The laughter had ceased, as had the footsteps, and instead of an answer from his brother, it had been the dogs that had responded with barks. Friedrich had smiled to himself. He had spotted August Ferdinand’s mop of red hair behind the pedestal of a statue, but had decided to go with it. When he had been twelve years old, he had not been granted a chance to live as a child of his age would have done it. “Ferdinand?”

Friedrich had continued to stand on the top of the stairs for a few more minutes, unable to hide his grin, and he had held his hands behind his back as he had slowly made his way down the corridor, prepared to be surprised by the child at any given moment. “Ha!” Just as he had known the boy would do it, August Ferdinand had jumped into his way from where he had been hiding behind the pedestal, his loyal dogs prancing around his legs. Friedrich had gasped, had held a hand to his heart and had stumbled one, then another step backwards. “Oh, my heart!” He had laughed when Ferdinand’s face had turned pale from the fear that he had possibly given him a heart attack, and had stepped forwards to pull the boy into an embrace. Given the age difference between them, Ferdinand very well could had been his own child and in a way, Friedrich had believed himself to be more of a father figure rather than an older brother. Whether the boy had seen it as luck or not: Friedrich Wilhelm had died when August Ferdinand had just turned ten, meaning that the majority of his youth would pass without a male authority except for his teachers. Friedrich had never wanted to have children and he would never father a single one, but he had promised, to himself as well as his mother, that he would try to be there for August Ferdinand as good as he could have done it - even more then that the misunderstandings had been cleared up. The boy had giggled when Friedrich had tickled his side, “What are you doing up here, mh? You are missing out on the festivities.” Ferdinand had wriggled out of Friedrich’s embrace to kneel down in between his whining dogs, “Maman said that Paris and Hector aren’t allowed to come.” His little brother had been so much like him while looking like his father, and it had been such obvious opposites that Friedrich had to chuckle. “It would be too loud for them in the ballroom.” Indeed, they had faintly heard the music and laughter on the upper floor of Monbijou palace. Ferdinand had nodded, “I know.” They had strolled through the corridor to where Ferdinand’s rooms had been, and while Friedrich had been more than happy that his brother had been allowed to live with their mother without having to switch between two opposite courts, he had failed to hide a stab of jealously. Hos much better his childhood would have been if Friedrich Wilhelm would have died sooner. “Friedrich?” Ferdinand had pulled him from his thought with an almost whispered question, and he had swallowed before he had turned his head to look down at him. “Yes?” “Do you ever... miss Father?” He had moved his hands behind his back again, mainly so that Ferdinand had not seen how he had clenched them into fists. “No, I do not. Do you?” His brother had shrugged, “I don’t know. I don’t think so, I mean I only ever saw him on Sundays in church.” Once Friedrich Wilhelm had gotten too fat and too tortured by his different illnesses, he had merely left his room for Sunday worship - luckily for Friedrich, who had then put a hand on Ferdinand’s shoulder. “Now, what do you want to do before it is time for you to retreat to bed?”


	7. Chapter 7 - 1747

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not betaed, all mistakes are mine.

**September 1747 **

As if the building, as if _Sanssouci_ had known what it had been erected to symbolically stand for, its bright yellow façade had given its all to shine just as brightly as the light of the sun that had fallen upon it during this September afternoon, and the golden letters had, in Friedrich’s eyes leastways, stood out even more than God’s hand in the sky could have done it at any given time. _Sans Souci_, the letters had spelled. _Without worry_. He had rarely ever been speechless, something that had been to his advantage. He would not have been able to keep his reputation as the king of Prussia up if it ever would have happened to him during an official event or especially not during a conference with his as well as foreign ministers. No, Friedrich had almost never been speechless in his life but when he had entered his newest palace, Sanssouci, without either Georg Wenzeslaus von Knobelsdorff, his court architect, or Antoine Pesne, his court painter, at his side, he had not even tried to keep his mouth from falling open in sheer amazement at what he had been seeing. Neither had he tried to keep the tears out of his eyes, only blinking them away when they had blurred his vision and had thus hindered him from seeing clearly. His Sanssouci, it had been completed. More than three years of planning and waiting had been over and the construction of his summer residence, his pleasure palace that he had always dreamed of having, had finally been finished. When it had became clear that Sanssouci would eventually be build, Friedrich had sat down and had drawn the first draft for his residence by himself and without help or advice. The ideas for it had been ghosting around his mind for years and he had strictly demanded that everything, whether within the palace itself or the garden, must be done according to his wishes. Friedrich had usually granted Knobelsdorff his artistic freedom and the architect had always seemed to know what would be to his king’s liking, but in regards to the palace that he had planned with the goal of it becoming his safe haven away from the city, Friedrich had been unusually strict and unyielding, especially whem the architect had suggested for a second floor to be build. Knobelsdorff’s suggestion had nearly ruined the friendly relationship that had since established between them, as Friedrich, in his own opinion, had been very specific about his wish of Sanssouci resembling a single-story villa rather than a royal palace. He had dreamed about living in a place like that countless of times over the span of many years, of decades even. The vision that he would, one day, be able to live in his _Sans Souci_ had formed during his darkest days in Küstrin, and out of the sudden, Friedrich had to chuckle. What Friedrich Wilhelm would have said if he would have seen it? That bastard probably would have suffered from a heart attack due to the splendid that Friedrich had not hesitated to aquire and in a way, he had mourned the fact that his father had not seen it - he would have loved to see him drop dead on the spot.

While Friedrich had known what the interior would look like before he had even gotten out of his carriage at the foot of the hill that Sanssouci had been build upon, his breath had still caught in his throat and he had still been a bit overwhelmed when he had gotten to see it finished. The last time that he had seen the vestibule, the fresco on the ceiling had merely been sketched on and as he had looked up at it then, Flora and genii had greeted him in their glory. There had been no more than thirteen rooms rooms in the pleasure palace, out of which one had been destined for the servants and five for any possible guests that he would invite to stay. Other than the vestibule that Friedrich had stood in, there had been a marble hall, just large enough to host his Round Table, an audience room, a concert room, a study and bedroom, a gallery and a private library - nothing that any other residence of his did not have, nothing out of the ordinary. Even though everything had been held at a smaller scale in Sanssouci, it had not lacked one bit of the splendour that Friedrich had liked to be surrounded with. He had let out a breath that he had not even been aware of having held in when he had slowly pushed the door that would grant him access into the concert room open. Oh, how long he had waited for this and just how many times had he dreamed of his exact moment. His Sanssouci, his _home_ away from the official royal courts of Berlin and Potsdam and their protocols, a place where he could be no one but himself and by himself only. Merely carefully selected guests would be allowed visit, with the exception for the day’s evening, of course. The opening festivities had been both necessary and desired, for it would have been a lie if Friedrich would have said that he had not wanted to show it off at least one time. He, once more, should not have been surprised to see his precious flute lying on its stand on the spinet, as it had been on his orders that it had been put there, but a shaky laugh had escaped him whn he had realised that he would not be able to resist the temptation of picking it up for a short play. Considering for how many bad memories in his life that single instrument had been indirectly responsible for - _the countless and horrible beatings from his father, the days that he had been locked inside of his room and the hours that he had spend muffling his cries into his pillow so that his father could not hear them_ \- Friedrich very well could have casted it aside in order to get rid of them. He never would have done so. It only would have been a win for his father and he had loved music far too much, had lived off it for far too long to ever be without it. Humming to himself, Friedrich had twisted the mouth piece just a mere inch to the right before he had raised it to his lips. His eyes had closed on their own accords as he had played one of the sonatas that he had written out of his memory, and he had known that the acoustics had been as good as he had wanted it to be when the notes that had left his flute had send shivers of the best sort up his back. _Heavenly_. Friedrich had been smiling all over again when he had finished his sonata, and his heart had been beating as strongly as before as he had put his instrument back down onto its stand, knowing that he would pick it up as soon as the festivities would be over. Here, at Sanssouci, no one could possibly prevent him from being who he had wanted to be his entire life.

The silence that had enclouded him and which he had appreciated so greatly, however, had been disrupted soon after. While the majority of his belongings had already been brought in, a few servants had still moved in and out of the palace to carry the last few bits to where Friedrich had ordered them to be put. Sanssouci may have been build to act as his summer estate, but he had not cared that August had since blended into September and that the first flowers had began to lose their beauty; there could not have been a way on earth that he would have waited until next year to live in his dream home when it had been available to him then. His ministers had agreed in unison and without any complain to Friedrich moving to Sanssouci for the remaining months of 1747. Sanssouci had not been Versailles, not unreachable from the city in an acceptable amount of time and neither a display of ruthless absolutist power where he had planned to lock the aristocracy in a golden cage. Friedrich would not have needed to have their agreement, he, in fact, could have done it without doing so much as letting them know, but their approval had made it easier for him to set it the process into motion. He may had no longer played his flute, but he had not left the concert room. Instead, he had taken his time to look at the large paintings that had hung on the walls without any real hurry. It had been exactly what he had wished for, what he had _dreamed_ of having and if he would have been alone in his Sanssouci, if he would not have heard the footsteps of the servants moving past the room, he most likely would have given in to his tears for the second time on that day. He had been so overwhelmingly happy, but at the same time so incredibly in grief that he had been forced to celebrate this moment alone. “And whose fault is it?”, Friedrich had muttered to himself, “Yours.” It had been no lie, it had solely been due to his own behaviour. He had not tried to get in touch with his friends of the past, _Giacomo_, and neither had he tried to build other relationships. The only one that he had been in steady contact with, except for Wilhelmine, of course, had been Voltaire. Even if they had stood in contact through letters only and had argued most of the time, Friedrich had still valuated their friendship and he had trusted the frenchman’s promise that he would come and visit him one day. He had sighed and had ran the tip of his fingers over the top of the spinet, lost in his thoughts, before he had walked towards the door. There had still been a few more rooms for him to view. His bedroom, which would act as his study as well, had been located right next to the music room and Friedrich had, of course, wanted just that. It would allow him to move between the different rooms unseen if there should be guests present at Sanssouci, and he had then moved his finger tips over the tapestry in his bedroom in an almost absentminded manner. He had still been in a bit of disbelief that he had finally had his home. He had waited so long. The room had been spacious enough to host everything that he had needed - a bed, his writing desk, a few chests of drawers, an armchair with a small side table by the window and enough space to move around, but it had yet been small enough to give off a sensation of comfort and especially of privacy.

In its complexion, the entity of Sanssouci had not been larger than his appartments in the Stadtschloss or the palace in Berlin had been, but Friedrich had already valued Sanssouci much more than he had ever done the other two. If someone would have asked him, he would not have hesitated to say that he had fallen in love with it in the short while that he had spend in it so far. He had been in love with the way that it had been constructed on the top of the hill, overlooking the gardens, and had a gallery for his art collection a short minute’s walk away, latter which had been exclusively for his private use only. The garden as well as the adjoining park had been changed to his wishes, with an entirely new sculptural program and more than just one new fountain, and had provided more than enough space for his dogs to run around freely. It had almost seemed as if living in Sanssouci had been the reward for all the suffering that he had went through in the past. The biggest secret of his newly finished project, however, had been the crypt that he had ordered to be build underneath a plot of grass near the east wing of the palace. While he had hoped that he had been far from the point of death the prospect of being laid to rest next to his father had haunted him, and so he had come up with the plan of ordering his burial to take place on the grounds of Sanssouci, next to where he had already buried a few of his beloved dogs. He much rather rest next to his dogs than the man that had turned his life into hell for decades on end. Friedrich had sighed as he had come to stand in front of the tall window, he would not be able to enjoy the solitude for much longer as he had guessed that the first guests had been due to arrive soon. Apart from the official state guests his mother would come, and so would Elisabeth Christine. It had not been as if Friedrich had wanted his wife, to which he had rarely ever send word, to be present at the opening celebrations, but he had believed that it would be of most gratification of he could show her that Sanssouci would be something that she may never be allowed to enter. She would be allowed to attend the festivities on the terrace and the surrounding garden, but the devil of his life shall not set one of her feet into his heaven. In her page-long acknowledgment letter to his invitation, which had been more than just a bit embarassing and amusing to read, Elisabeth Christine had stated that she would be accompanied by the Italian ambassador that had been residing in Berlin for the past three weeks. Confused at first, Friedrich had then faintly remembered that he had signed documents that had spoken of a possible stay for an Italian ambassador, but he had to admit that he had not even read it properly before he had put his signature underneath it. There had been more important things to concentrate on than the question if there should be a person more at his unwanted wife’s court. As long as it had not affected him, Friedrich had cared very, very litte about what she had been doing in Schönhausen. He had not moved away from the window, had instead watched the manservants setting up the last few, yet not lit torches on the terrace. The festivities would go well into the evening, so much had been sure, and Friedrich had allowed himself to roll his eyes and run a tired hand over his face - there had been a reason as for why he had left the representative obligations of the crown to his wife.

Even if he had detested those representative duties,, there had still been a hope in him that he evening would turn out to be not utterly nerve-wrecking. On Friedrich’s order Johann Joachim Quantz, the royal flute teacher, had set up a small orchestra that would play a selection of the pieces that Friedrich himself had written for the occasion. He had taken his time when it had come to preparing himself for the evening, because who would have dared to comment if the king of Prussia would have shown up fashionably late to his own festivities? After having lingered by the window for a bit longer, Friedrich had called his valets in. They had dressed him, had refreshened his wig and Keith had powered him to his wishes. Once the opening would be over with, Friedrich had wanted to reduce the number of servants that would be present and at his service in Sanssouci. He had been well aware that it would make people talk, but he had cared very little about it. If he had wanted to be served and reminded of his titles at any given minute of the day, he would have stayed in the Stadtpalast of the palace in Berlin. “The first guests have already arrived, Sire,” Keith had told him as he had covered the circles underneath his eyes, he had gotten very little sleep in the past few weeks. “I do know that. Is my mother here?” “Yes, Sire, Her Majesty is awaiting you in the gallery.” Friedrich had nodded before he had dismissed his first valet with a wave of his hand and had sauntered over to pick up his glass from the small side table by the window, his eyes closing as the sweetness of the wine had passed over his tongue. It should have been a good day for him, and, in a way, it had been one, but as he had swiftly turned on his heels and had been about to walk out of his room to meet his mother in the small gallery of Sanssouci, his heart had suddenly plummented into the pit of his stomach and if he would have listened closely, he most likely would have been able to hear it shatter into a thousand shards. Indeed, the construction of his Sanssouci had finally been completed. He had the home that he had always dreamed of having and his future had, for once, seemed bright. What had not changed, however had been the fact that he had still been alone in the most heartbreaking way. Friedrich had tightened the hold he had on the handle of his cane as he had stood almost frozen to the spot, feeling an unwanted lump forming in his throat. Lonely... had been the right word for it. He had thrown an almost longing look at the all so familiar portrait that had found its new place on the wall to the right of his bed. _You have been gone for almost seventeen years, my beloved Katte, and I yet have to accept that you will not be returning to me_. He had not voiced those words out, but to him, it had made no difference whether they had been spoken or not and as if those two had been coherent, he had felt the sudden urge to open the wooden box again. It had always been moments like these when Friedrich had always regretted that he had never found the courage to contact Giacomo, despite the way that his heart had urged him to do it.

The only one who had known of his regret had been his mother. When he had visited her for Christmas last years. she, seemingly all out of the sudden, had asked him whether he had since send a letter to Venice or not. It had only been in her presence that he had dared to let it all out, and if he had shed a tear or had fully sobbed in her arms, she had not cared. And most importantly: she had listened to his sorrow that had reached far deeper than his lost childhood friendship. When his father had died, his mother had not lost the love of her life, but when Friedrich had witnessed Katte’s execution, it had been as if his lifeline had been cut alongside Katte’s neck. It had been a loss that he would probably never heal from, and it had been a realization that had torn his heart apart a long time ago. He had squeezed his eyes shut when he had began to feel them burning again how own will, he could not have afforded to cry when he had been due to face his guests in no more than a few minutes. “Not now,” he had muttered to himself, “not now.” The urge to open the box had not ebbed down, and Friedrich had known that it would not do so unless he would go after it. He had needed to search through multiple drawers and chests and had nearly trembled from the cold rush that had crept up his back - a rush of fear that it might have gotten lost in the moving process, but he had audibly sighed in relief when he had found it in the drawer of his nightstand. He had held the wooden box to his chest for a few moments, trying to calm himself, and had sat down onto the edge of the bed before he had lifted its top. The necklace had rested on the satin just like it had done for over two decades. He had never worn it in all those years, as he had been too scared of the delicate chain breaking by accident, but when Friedrich had put the lid back onto the box and had stashed it in the drawer of the nightstand while gently holding the necklace enclosed in his left hand, he had already made his decision without really thinking about it. There had not been a reason as for why he should wear, but other than being meaningful it had been an uttermost beautiful piece of jewlery as well and Friedrich had sighed as he had heaved himself onto his feet again. His gaze had been firmly fixed onto the necklace in his palm when he had moved to stand in front of the mirror and he had caught himself smiling as he had fastened it around his neck. It had weighed nothing, and the expensive metal had felt cool around his neck where he had hidden it underneath his collar. He had not wanted to be asked about it, and if he would have been honest with himself, he would have admitted that he had wanted to keep it, and especially its meaning, to himself. Friedrich had made sure that the necklace could not be spotted before he had left the bedroom and had walked towards the door that had lead to the small gallery of Sanssouci. It had barely been wide enough for more than two people to walk next to each other. He, of course, had planned it with that intention. Sanssouci had not been meant to represent him. He had already heard chattering and laughing voices from the outside, and he had not needed to look at the clock to know that he should have greeted them minutes ago. Not that he had cared.

~

“I apologize for letting you wait, Maman.” Sophie Dorothea obviously had not expected him to approach her from behind, and Friedrich let out an apologetic sound as she gasped in surprise. “You know very well that I am far too old to be scared like this.” “I am sorry, Maman.” She shook her head but still smiled at him, and she did not lose her smile as Friedrich kissed her hand before he allowed himself to be pulled into a quick, but heartwarming embrace. “How are you, mon cœr?” He cleared his throat, “I am as good as always, Maman. You know that I am.” He almost groaned when he realised just how unbelievable his words had sounded to his own ears, but Sophie Dorothea did not make a comment on then. It would not have surprised him if she already knew what he was going through. Friedrich did, however, close his eyes and leaned his cheek into her palm after it had come up to cup the side of his cheek. What would possibly do without his mother? “You must not overwork yourself, my love. Do not think that the powder will prevent your mother from seeing the tiredness in your eyes. A mother always knows,” Sophie Dorothea said with a kind laugh and Friedrich joined her, kissing the back of her hand once more. “I will be able to regain my energy here, Maman.” “The palace is... quite small, is it not?” “It is not _small_,” he retorted, his voice carrying quite the bite as if he had been hurt by what she had said, “is everything that I ever wanted to have. It is much more than any other palace could ever be.” His anger had dissolved as soon as it had come up, though, when his mother had merely tilted her head as she smiled at him, her eyes glistering unusually. “I found your sketches for... this,” she gestured around her with her hands, “after your father’s guards searched and positively ruinded your room, before I was even told that you were arrested.” He did not miss the edge in her voice and had bowed his head in a silent apology to the way that he had spoken to her, but Sophie Dorothea merely squeezed his hand. “I am happy if you are happy with it, mon cœr.” The ghost of a smile darted over Friedrich’s lips, “But it would certainly be too small to house you and your entourage.” Mother and son both laughed, as they both knew that it had beent he truth. As the King Mother, Sophie Dorothea was the first woman of Prussia and she alone would have requested more private rooms than Sanssouci could have offered her. “Be glad that I am not planning to take it over then,” she laughed, winking at her eldest son, and Friedrich allowed her to tease him for a while longer until a knock at the door told him that he must attend to his own festivities. “Now, Maman, as much as I enjoy to joke around with you...” “Oh hush. You have never been a good liar, my son.” Friedrich bowed his head and marched to the door that had been knocked on. Keith respectfully bowed his head when Friedrich had nearly well ripped the door open. “I apologise for disrupting you, Sire,” the valet said, and Friedrich could clearly hear the guests by then. “Her Majesty the Queen is asking to see you, Sire.” No one would have dared to demand of him to hurry on and start the evening, but right then, Friedrich would have preferred it over what he had gotten to hear from his first valet. He did not even try to hide his snarl, “Let her know that I will be there right away.” “Yes, Sire,” Keith dutifully answered as he bowed once more before hurrying off. “Maman?”

Friedrich waited until his mother reached his side, and they linked arms before exiting the gallery and stepping into the vestibule. The chatters and laughters that had seemed to have filled the air just seconds ago had died down as soon as the king of Prussia and the King Mother had appeared on the swell of the door. Friedrich held his head exceptionally high while he guided his mother into the middle of the room, which had been cleared by the large crowd of courtiers, ministers and artists. He kissed Sophie Dorothea’s hand and his mother, in response, bowed her head to him, and it was only then that Friedrich let go of her. Other than when he had been talking to his valet, Friedrich then had no other choice but to swallow the grimace down that had wanted to spread out on his face when he spotted his godforsaken wife in the crowd to his left. _Disgusting_. One look behind him told him that the terrace must have been as filled as the vestibule was, so he had moved closer to the opened entrance door to ensure that not a single one of his guests could miss his speech. “I am happy to welcome you here at Sanssouci,” he said, his voice not fully raised but enough to stand for the authority that he had embodied with his name, and allowed a good half a minute of applause before he raised his hand to signal that he wished to speak again. Silence reigned instantly. “This,” he looked up at the fresco at the ceiling while gesturing with his hands, “has been a dream of mine for a long time, and I have awaited this day for just as long. However, do not be mistaken: today will be the only exception that I will allow the majority of you here.” A murmor went through the crowd, along with a few shocked gasps, and Friedrich did not try to hide his smirk. Oh, how gratifying that moment was. Just as he had dreamed it to be. “Now, now,” he raised his hand in front of his chest in a placatory gesture, “that does not mean that there will be no more masquerade balls in Berlin to which you will be sincerely invited to.” The crowd once more applaused and Friedrich already knew that they would forget about the way that he had embarassed them as soon as the first pitchers of wine would be brought up. “I would hereby like to welcome you for the evening. So please; eat, drink and enjoy yourself tonight.” Friedrich signaled with a nod that his short speech had been over with, and he inspected the tip of his cane as the air around him exploded with applause and praises to his name. They were brainless oafs, every single one of them. God, how much he detested them. He listened to them for a bit longer before he turned around and walked through the entrance door and onto the terrace to give a sign to Johann Joachim Quantz, who started the play of the orchestra in an instant. Keith brough him a glass of wine on a tray, and he accepted it with a thankful nod. He had just taken the first sip when he saw the devil approaching him and ordered himself, in the silence of his mind, to keep his cool while drinking a bit more despite the fact that the sweetness of the alcohol had nearly overwhelmed him. “What do you want,” Friedrich stated with a flat voice before Elisabeth Christine even had the chance to speak herself, gazing over the crowd on the terrace instead of granting her with a single look.

“I have notified Y-Your Majesty’s valet that I wished to speak to you.” It would have been a blatant lie if he would have said that he had tried to keep himself from snorting at her stuttering. With Sophie Dorothea carrying the title of King Monther instead of King Widow, his mother had claimed the seat of Prussia’s first woman for herself, leaving Elisabeth Christine on the second rank. Albeit for Friedrich, she stood on a way lower one, and he had thus ordered her not even a day after Friedrich Wilhelm had died that she ought to adress him as His Majesty the king or Prussia, not her husband. Had it been chicane? Most definitely. If he felt bad about it? There had been moments, solely in the past, when he had doubed whether or not he had been too hard and unkind to her - but those doubts had always been gone as soon as he would remember how close she had been to his father, how _desperately_ she had seeked his presence and, most importantly, the horrible things that she had said about his beloved Katte. As if she had been born to be the female counterpart of Friedrich Wilhelm, Friedrich hated her almost as much. If he wanted to he easily could have divorced her, but considering the grief that it would bring to his mother, he had refrained from it. “So I have been told.” He raised the rim oft he glass to his lips, “What is it that you want.” If he would have been looking at her, he would have seen how Elisabeth Christine was clenching her hands around the fan that she was holding. “I was wondering... whether I will be allowed to reside here.” He snorted and rolled his eyes shut, shaking his head. He did not look at her. “What makes you think that you will be allowed to leave your residence that was given to you for a reson? Sanssouci was not build for you, and it is not yours to enter.” A few courtiers who stood close enough to them to hear Friedrich, stopped in their own chattering and turned around to look at him. Or at Elisabeth Christine, really. He had never made a secret out of the fact that he loathed her in all honesty. “I... understand, Your Majesty.” “Well, you better. Now leave me alone.” Friedrich only turned towards her to watch her go, and he could not help it but grimace when he imagined what it would have been like if they ever would have consummated their marriage. _Disgusting_. With Elisabeth Christine out of sight again, he visibly relaxed. Humming alone to the melody that he knew by heart - as he had written it, he moved through the crowd to find his mother. Wherever Friedrich walked he was showered in praised, compliments and toast to which he dutifully answered with simple and yet adequate nod. Finding his mother was not a task that had taken him long to complete, he had heard her laughter coming from the marble hall before he had even seen her. “Mon petit!” Sophie Dorothea was surrounded by the happy round of her entourage, all women, and the smile on Friedrich’s face was a honest one as she allowed her to kiss his cheek. “I hope that you are enjoying yourself, Maman,” he said, taking his mother’s free hand, the one that was not holding a wine glass of her own, to squeeze it affectionally, siftly ignoring the almost devouring looks that he received from a handful of the noblewomen.

“Oh be assured that I am enjoying myself, my love. We have been talking about the ambassador that your wife came accompanied by.” Friedrich looked at his mother in disbelieve when it was not only Sophie Dorothea’s entourage that had giggled like a bunch of young girls, but her as well. “And what would be so enjoyable about that ambassador?”, he asked, an eyebrow raised. Women. “You may see for yourself, my son.” Sophie Dorothea had fanned herself for a few seconds before she had gestured towards one of the door of the marble hall, which had been opened to allow the guests to freely move between it and the terrace, all while the noblewomen around her still giggled, albeit a bit less obvious, and when Friedrich’s eyes had followed to where his mother’s arm had been pointing, he merely snorted. It was not as if she had pointed at one specific person, but it could be anyone of the dozen that he could have made out from where he stood alone. “’Tis the blond one we have been talking about, Your Majesty.” Friedrich did not know who of the women had come to his help, but he nodded before he turned back towards the crowd. Ah yes, he could see as for why his mother and her entourage were giggling like girls, and he let out a sound that was somewhat of a choked snort when he stepped aside to be able to eye said blond without it being too obviously. He _definitely_ saw it by then. It may not have been the man’s pony tail that had hung sleek and elegant, held back with a bow, onto his back, but his backside. As if his thoughts were audible, the group of women, including his mother, bursted into laughter once again and Friedrich raised the rim of his glass to his lips out of pretense. He did not know if he was successful when it came to hiding the unwanted blush that had shot into his face, but God be damned, he needed to take a second look. He would not have been surprised if the man had chosen the trousers that he was wearing for the sole reason of his backside looking sinfully inviting to touch - what surprised Friedrich, however, was the way that he would have liked to reach out and touch. For how long he watched him, he did not know, and even though it was merely the man’s backside that Friedrich was looking at, he was certain that his front would not disappoint. Any other monarch in his position would not have made a secret out of their interest, and it would have been a lie if Friedrich would have said that he had not itched to talk to him. What stopped him, however, had been his own inexperience. Trying to persuade another was not what he had ever done before - after all, it had been Katte who had dared to make the first step, and he could not possibly have known if the man would be interested in him. So Friedrich, for the moment at least, did nothing else than watching him. The man seemed to be bound into a conversation with Keith and a few other men and Friedrich found himself to be enamoured in the way that he had gestured with his hands while talking or how he threw his head back when he laughed at something that had been whispered into his ear. As ridiculous and surprise as it was, Friedrich had taken a liking to him, and he nearly emptied a second glass before he was comfortable with the plan of attack that he had puzzled together. He took a deep breath to steady himself and set into motion, taking one step after another while his eyes never left his target, but he had not even gotten to the door before it had all been discarded.

He would have been fine if it only would have been his plan of talking to the man would have gotten discarded, but it was as if his entire worldview just crumbled into nothing. It happened very unexpected - a courtier had adressed _the blond_ somewhere from his right, and the blond had, of course, turned his head to answer with a blinding smile and words that Friedrich had not been able to hear over the sound of his heart seemingly beating in his ears. _Giacomo_. Friedrich had not seen him for twenty-five years. When he had last seen him Giacomo had been a seven-year-old boy, with childlike chubby cheeks, a head full of blond curls and barely taller than a chest of drawers, but Friedrich knew that it was him. My God. The man - _Giacomo_ was as different from the boy in Friedrich’s memory as he only could have been. The childish lineaments that he knew were gone, replaced by a delicate jawline and curved lips as well as with a pointed nose and high cheekbones. Friedrich did not even realize that he was openly gaping into Giacomo’s direction, but it was his luck that the other did not notice it. Friedrich’s mind was on the verge of collapsing from the way that it was racing, there were just so many questions on it that he did not even know where to begin. What was he doing here? When did he get to Prussia? What was he doing here? How was he the ambassador? What was Giacomo doing here? His heart somersaulted when he realised that he had read over his name when he had signed the documend regarding the Italian ambassador’s stay at Elisabeth Christine’s court - how on earth had he managed to read over it? How could he have missed it? Giacomo had been residing so close to him for weeks and he had not known. Friedrich swallowed hard and, at another laugh from the man that he was watching in uttermost disbelief, was suddenly no longer able to look at him. He took a sharp turn to the left, disappeared into the audience room and nearly sunk to the floor as his knees seemed to weak to hold him upright any longer. A gasp left him when his back hit the door with a thud. While he had not even perceived the light piece of jewelry around his neck before, the necklace then practically burned where it touched his skin. It should not have hit his very core, but God, it had. Friedrich blindy put his nearly empty wine glass down onto the small side table and carelessly dumped his cane onto the floor to cover his face with his hands. Giacomo. And as if it was not bad enough that he was, once more, confronted with what he had lost due to his own mistakes, his attraction for him was running even higher. If someone would have told him that he would find himself enamoured with his lost childhood friend, he would have banished them from his court for trying to joke with him. It had been decades ago that he had been in a situation like this. What on earth was he supposed to say to him? The sound that escaped him stood somewhere between a laugh and a sob and Friedrich’s hands were trembling as he moved them over his face in a repetative motion. Giacomo had been in Prussia for at least a fortnight, and had not contacted him. But Friedrich could not have blamed him even if he would have wanted to, it would be of no surprise if Giacomo was certain that he had deliberatedly ended their friendship.

Giacomo was here at Sansoucci, most unexpectedly so and in that very moment and in a way, Friedrich mourned their lost friendship even more now that he was, quite literally, withing his reach. He had no idea if Giacomo would even want to speak to him - to him, Friedrich, not the king of Prussia in his role as an ambassador. The tears that had since shot into his eyes were due to many reasons. Overwhelmingness, grief and confusion were all taking over him, and everything that filled the otherwise empty room for the next few minutes were Friedrich’s choked sobs and his labored breathing. _Get a grip of yourself, for God’s sake Fritz_ he snarled at himself, merely in his mind, of course, and clicked his tongue in annoyance when a single tear did escape the corner of his eye. He made sure that he dabbed it away with his handkerchief and did not wipe at it, as it would have left marks in the powder. Friedrich knew that he would eventually have to talk to him, the sheer imagination of Giacomo leaving again without granting Friedrich the chance to do so was one out of sheer horror. If he would not try it now, he would never get in touch with him again and he would be dammned if he would not try. With a trembling hand Friedrich reached underneath the collar of his shirt to tug the necklace into sight. The day that Giacomo had given it to him had been so far back into the past that it very well could have happened in another life, and he stroked the engraved letters as he tried to calm his racing heart. _STA. Sempre tuo amico. Always your friend._ He had no idea whether or not Giacomo had kept the counterpart, the necklace that he had given to him as an answer to Giacomo’s present to him. It was nothing but wishful thinking, but Friedrich was hopeful that he had not been written off by the other. Oh, if only he would have known that Giacomo was... He took in a deep breath, held it in his lunges until they burned before he released it again. It would bring him nothing if he would continue to hide in his own palace. He wanted and _needed_ to talk to him. He had dreamed and wished to be able to do so for far too long. Friedrich cleared his throat, straighened his spine and put the necklace back underneath his shirt before he bend down to pick his cane off the floor. His missing presence had seemingly gone unnoticed, as the the marble hall was still filled with carefree chattering and laughters as Friedrich closed the door of the audience room behind him. He cleared his throat anew, his eyes darting over to the opened door to the terrace, a wave of relief washing over him when Giacomo was still there and good God, what a feast to the eye he was. His elegant, sleek body dressed in only the finest clothing in which he seemed to move impossibly smoothly. And those trousers on him... Heat rose into Friedrich’s face and tainted his cheeks in a subtile pink, he was certain that he would not have been as embarrassed if it would not have been _Giacomo_ that he was so attracted to, as, until today, Giacomo had been his seven-year-old friend only. His heart was racing as fast as it had done it before and he did not even try to hide the unsteadiness of his hand as he snatched a new glass of wine off a servant’s tray. _Now, Fritz_.

He took one last, small sip from his wine as if it would support him in his intention and set into motion. Friedrich did not care if his behaviour was suspicious, if the way his eyes were glued onto Giacomo’s back, who still had to turn around for the first time, was too noticeable or if anyone was watching him. It were not more than a few meters that divided them, but Friedrich could not remember the last time that he had needed to force himself to take each and every single step into Giacomo’s direction. He had stopped walking when he had come close enough to make out Giacomo’s voice from those of the other guests, and he had already known what was about to happen before the first of the courtiers had gasped and hurried to bow and step aside. “Your Majesty.” The men that Giacomo had been conversing with had all stepped back and bowed their heads, but as Giacomo stood with his back towards Friedrich, it took him a few more seconds to catch up with what had happened. Friedrich nearly stopped breathing when Giacomo turned around, and he knew that he did not just imagined the way that his eyes widened as they met his. “Your Majesty.” Giacomo’s formal greeting of him only pushed the dagger of hurt and grief deeper into the wound of his heart, but he managed to keep his mask upright. On the outside, at least. If his heart shattered at the way that Giacomo kept bowed and his gaze firmly away from him, it ought to stay to his knowledge only. He nodded, thus signaling that he accepted their greeting, but even after he did so, Giacomo still did not look at him. The younger man was also no longer smiling, and Friedrich felt another stab in his chest when he wondered whether or not Giacomo held a honest grunge against him. Not that he could have blamed him, of course. He snapped out of his thoughts when he noticed how courtiers around them were beginning to chatter and how the color on Giacomo’s face had darkened. _Still easily embarrassed, I see_, he thought, and his voice was not as steady as he had wanted it to be when he spoke, “Would it be possible to speak to you for a moment, Monsieur?” Talking to him like that felt wrong, it was wrong, considering the memories that they shared, and the uneasiness that he was experiencing only intensified when Giacomo answered with a nod as well as with a “Yes of course, Your Majesty”. Unsuccessfully swallowing around the lump in his throat, Friedrich nodded and turned around to walk back into the marble hall, eventually deciding on taking... whatever this would be into the audience room and away from unwanted eyes. He did not need to look over his shoulder to be ensured that Giacomo was indeed following him, the whispers told it all, and he swallowed hard yet again when he saw how Sophie Dorothea and her entourage were following his every step. If his mother had recognized Giacomo? Friedrich did not know, and neither did he care. Both his mind and his heart were racing - _he was going to talk to Giacomo_, and the relatively short walk thus seemed almost unbearably long. How he would react if Giacomo would state that he did not have any interest in his person? That he would keep their contact on the basis of their titles and duties only? Friedrich did not know. He hesitated for a split second when his hand came to rest on the handle of the door, but forced himself to push it down and open the door, holding it open for Giacomo to walk in first before he followed him. The silence in the room, after the door had fallen close, was deafening to Friedrich’s ears.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not betaed, all mistakes are mine.

**September 1747**

Friedrich’s heart vehemently refused to calm down in its racing as he and Giacomo stood facing each other. Neither of them said a word, but when Friedrich opened his mouth, albeit without managing to bring a single sound out, Giacomo nearly whirled around to turn his back towards him. Silence. A sobering silence hung heavy around their heads and rested heavily on Friedrich’s shoulders, so heavily that he failed to keep his posture as straight as he wished it would have been. His mind was racing as fast as his heart was as he tried to come up with the right thing to say, and he never took his eyes off of Giacomo while he did so. The younger man may have stayed firmly turned away from him, it, however, only enabled Friedrich to see how he clenched his hands where he held them behind his back, and seeing that was enough to make give a clear sign to the king of Prussia that Giacomo, his childhood friend, was anything but indifferent to him. It surely would have been easier if he would have been indifferent, but seeing that he was obviously fighting with his anger wrapped an invisible cord around Friedrich’s throat and pulled it tight, threatening to choke him. He never would have expected that he would meet him again, someday, and then would fail to say something, anything at all. If someone would have been a witness to the scene, they surely never would have guessed that the two had once been close friends. Friedrich needed to turn away, but for an entirely different reason than Giacomo had done it. He could not have beared to look at him for much longer without being certain that he would not do something that he was only going to regret afterwards, and turned to inspect the French painting on the wall instead. How much time eventually passed until there was a shift in the atmosphere, he did not known. It was only when he perceived a sound that very well could have been a sniffle that he turned back around, his throat once more being closed off when his eyes landed on Giacomo’s back. The chattering from the guests and the play of the orchestra acted as dull background noises, accentuating the silence between him and Giacomo and it was just that silence that caused the wound in Friedrich’s heart to open anew. Did they really have no words for each other than formal greetings of “Monsieur” and “Your Majesty” after so many years? _For God’s sake Fritz, say something! Say something, do it now you idiot!_ He swallowed hard, but found himself unable to open his mouth for more than a gasp when he saw how Giacomo removed his hands from where he had held them behind his back to bring them to his face and while all Friedrich could see was the back of his head, he knew that Giacomo wiped at his face. The younger man’s attempt to hide his quick gesture by turning even further away had failed. Silence. It lasted until Giacomo cleared his throat and, to Friedrich’s uttermost surprised, turned towards him again.

The tears that were swimming in Giacomo’s eyes robbed Friedrich of his breath and his ability to search words that possibly would have been the right ones. They were not what he had wanted to see, he had not wanted to be the reason behind them. _You are an idiot, Fritz._ “If there is... nothing that Your Majesty wishes to speak to be about I would like to return to the festivities.” Giacomo’s voice was barely above a whisper, and Friedrich easily could have missed it if he would have been as buried in his thoughts as he had been before. He needed to swallow hard, he simply had not expected him to sound so abashed, so distanced. Giacomo set into motion before Friedrich had been able to think about what he could do or say, and he would have stormed past him and out of the door if Friedrich’s hand would not have shot out and caught him by the elbow. “Do not go yet, Giacomo. Please.” His voice was nowhere near as steady and voluminous as it usually was, but it surely would have felt wrong if he would have raised it more. He could feel Giacomo trembling where he held onto his arm, and he let only go of him once he was certain that Giacomo would stay and not try to bolt out of the door. He knew that he would never get a hold of him, figuratively speaking, if he would slip through his fingers in that very moment. Giacomo’s breathing was still raspy and hitching every now and then and Friedrich sighed, in relief and barely audible so, when he saw him nodding out of the corner of his eye. With his heart beating strongly against its cage of rips, Friedrich removed his hand and put distance between the two of them by taking one, then another slow step away from Giacomo. It was not his intention to make this seem like an interrogation, if Giacomo would tell him that he had absolutely no interest or desire in what Friedrich had hoped would be a honest conversation, he would allow him to leave. He never would have made him stay with the order of a king. Friedrich was not certain if he had ever been in a more uncomfortable situation. When he had dreamed of their reunion, it had always been images of smiles and laughter that had rooted in Friedrich’s mind and as of then, those images were as far away as they only could have been. “May I... call you Giacomo, Monsieur?” He did not know where the question had come from, but it had passed over his tongue before he had even had a chance to think about it. Giacomo had snorted and for a moment, Friedrich feared that he might not even be allowed to adress him by his first name and the sheer prospect of it twisted the knife in his heart around, sending a wave of bright pain into his chest. At first, no answer came from the other. Giacomo kept his gaze away from Friedrich as he searched the pockets of his waistcoat, eventually pulling a handkerchief into sight which he used to wipe at his eyes. _He is crying_, Friedrich grabbed the handle of his cane a bit tighter to prevent himself from mindlessly reaching out for him. When they had been children, Friedrich had hugged him whenever he had cried. Well, except for the time that he had been responsible for Giacomo’s tears. “You may,” the younger man answered after what could have been an eternity, “albeit I cannot see as for why... Your Majesty would want to call me by my name.” Another twist of the knife in his heart, another hard swallow around the lump in his throat.

_Because I still think of you as my friend, that is why._ Friedrich had suggested that Giacomo had believed himself to have been cut off by him - understandably so, as the last letter between them had been send by Giacomo, not him. In the last stage of planning his escape that had been doomed to fail, Friedrich had not answered to it. In fact, he was not even sure if he, due to the despair that had dominated his life back then, had read it at all. “Because I...”, he began, but trailed off when he needed to clear his throat. If he would not have done so, his voice surely would have cracked more than it already was. “Because I want to talk to you as your friend, Giacomo.” “W-What?” A smile tugged at the corners of Friedrich’s mouth when Giacomo looked at him with wide eyes for a second only before he averted his gaze away, and he, in a way, was reminded of the seven-year-old boy that he had been friends with all over again. _Good God, twenty-five years._ He looked down at the tip of his cane as he spoke, mainly because Giacomo continued to look at him with wide, vulnerable and tear-filled eyes that made him feel as if he was consistent of nothing but glass, as if the other could see what was going on inside of him. “There are misunderstandings between us that must not be.” Giacomo nodded, straightened his back and Friedrich’s heart dropped a bit when he turned away from him. “Misunderstandings, I see,” the Italian said after he had cleared his throats twice. “What would those _misunderstandings_ be, Your Majesty?” “Stop calling me that,” Friedrich said with a sigh and if it had sounded like a plea, he did not care. “Please, Giacomo.” What they were doing could have seemed ridiculous, but there was no use in denying the existence of masked-up hurt on both sides. They had been much more than just childhood friends, had shared so many of their interests, desires and wishes with the other that they never should have fallen apart. Friedrich sighed, closed his eyes for a moment and breathed in deeply, “I merely want you to know that it was not my intention to... break off the contact with you.” The sound that Giacomo made in response had probably meant to be a snort of scornfulness, but it was laced with an unmistakable note of hurt - and it was enough to make Friedrich wonder if he was not the only one that had expected a different turn of their meeting. “So it was not your intention,” Giacomo retorted after a few seconds of silence had passed, his back still turned towards Friedrich, “but I guess that I was not even worth a simple reason after eight years. Oh, how stupid of me. I should have known that beforehand.” The Italian snapped the last part of his sentence and it would have been a lie if Friedrich would have claimed that they did not hit him. “But as I said, it is understandable. It is you who is carrying a title of such a high honor, after all, not me. I am merely a marquis, I understand.” Giacomo did not sound as convincing as he had probably wanted to, and just as his eyes had done it minutes ago, Giacomo’s words robbed Friedrich of his breath. Giacomo had chosen that as the reason for the end of their friendship? That Friedrich had dropped him because of his _title_? Over something that, in Friedrich’s eyes at least, was very trivial when it came to a friendship? He huffed, simply out of disbelief, before he muttered with a voice as low as if he was not certain whether he wanted the other to hear it or not, “I would have given up my title long ago if I would have known about the unhappiness that came with it.”

He drew in a deep breath, “I had planned to write you when I got to France and England, but my attempt only landed me in Küstrin for the following two years instead. I believe that you are already aware of the imprisonment that I had no other choice but to endure after my... accomplice was beheaded in front of my eyes.” Giacomo appeared to stand frozen to the spot, as if he had not expected to hear what Friedrich had just said. Sure, he must have known about the events of that fateful November 1730, there was no way that any aristocrat in Europe could have missed it. Especially not Friedrich Wilhelm’s plan to exclude him from succession, which, thankfully, he did not manage to do without starting a war that even the _Soldatenkönig_ would not have been able to gain the upper hand over. “I have heard about it,” Giacomo answered, his voice, once again, carrying much less bite to it and barely above a whisper. “I merely thought that...” The younger man trailed off and shook his head before he fell silent, and Friedrich’s heart was in his throat for the dozenth time that evening alone. “You what?”, he asked, clutching the handle of his cane to hide the tremble in his hand. From himself, mostly, as Giacomo was still looking at the gilded stucco on the ceiling instead of at him. “I though that... you never saw me as a friend at all.” _Oh!_ “When I received no word from you I...”, Giacomo shook his head again as he laughed a tearful laugh. “It was a long time ago. It is stupid, I apologize. Please forget what I said.” The Italian then muttered something under his breath that Friedrich did not understand, and Friedrich could not help himself but marvel at his beauty as he took two slow steps into his direction. “It is not stupid.” He was then standing close enough to touch him if he would have wanted to, and God, he had. But instead of reaching out to feel the softness that he somehow just knew Giacomo’s hair possessed or run the tips of his fingers over the jawline that begged to be touched like Michelangelo’s David, he merely put his left hand onto the other man’s shoulder. “I wanted to write you for years, for decades, Giacomo, but I never found the heart to do so. I have feared that I... no longer had the chance to be your friend.” Giacomo gasped as he slowly turned around to face him and when wide, vulnerable brown eyes met with his, he almost would have moved his hand to cup it against Giacomo’s cheek. The entire situation had long turned his world of feelings upside down - had expected to see him again as little as he had ever expected of being enamoured of someone at first sight. Katte had been the first, and Friedrich had, until this evening, believed him to be the last one. “Which one of my letters was the last one that you got?”, Giacomo asked, a bit out of the sudden, and Friedrich’s brows pulled together in confusion. _Which one?_ “The one that you send me when you... were on the way to Paris, with your brother. Gatano?” “Gaetano, yes,” he was corrected by Giacomo, whose face was momentarily lit up by a short-lived smile. “But it was by far the last letter that I send you.” Friedrich frowned, more than a bit confused. “No letter was ever delivered to me afterwards.” The next thing that Giacomo said send not only a shiver, but an honest shock through Friedrich. “I must have send you a hundred, Friedrich,” Giacomo whispered, not shaking Friedrich’s hand off his shoulder. “I eventually stopped writing when I realized that waiting for an answer was in vain.”

“At first I thought that they must have gotten lost, you know how often mail coaches are mugged. But after a while,” the younger man visibly swallowed, “I was certain that you were too caught up in your duties to answer to someone like me.” Friedrich felt as if he had been slapped across the face, and his eyes hastedly moved over Giacomo as he pulled his hand way. It had to be a joke, right? There was no way... “I never got another letter,” he whispered, his heart somersaulting, “I did not.” “You do not have to lie to -” “It is no lie.” Silence grew between them as it did not take Friedrich long to know the answer as for _why_ he had not received the letters that Giacomo had send out all so trustworthily. “I should have known...” “What should you have known?” “That my father would do everything to isolate me even after I was released.” “Do you mean that...” “I have no doubt that he got rid of them, that damned bastard.” He snarled the last part while tears had since risen into his eyes. God, he was so angry. Angry and desperate - he should have known that his father, who had ruined his life whenever he had gotten the chance to, had been responsible for the end of his friendship with Giacomo as well. “I am sorry, Giacomo, if I would have known...” Giacomo shrugged, though failed to make the gesture seem as indifferent as it probably should have been. “You did not know.” “Giacomo?” “Yes?” “When did you send the last letter?” The younger man took a few moments to answer and swallowed hard before he spoke, “When I was told that your father was dying.” _He tried it for years and years on end_. “What?”, Friedrich breathed, his eyes searching for Giacomo’s gaze that was still fixed onto the floor almost desperately. It was obvious that the younger man was ashamed of having confessed to what he had done in order to try and safe the friendship that had been doomed by fate - or Friedrich Wilhelm, that was. “For so long?” Giacomo’s face was flushed with color from one second to another but before the younger could have lost himself in a stuttered and unnecessary explaination, Friedrich, without thinking, closed the gap between them and embraced him. He did not pull back when Giacomo froze, and it took no more than a second for the younger man to melt into the touch and close his arms around Friedrich as well. They held onto each other for what could have been a good half of a minute before Friedrich loosened his hold. He tried his hardest to not think about how good it had felt to have Giacomo in his arms, and if he had happened to run his hand over Giacomo’s back as he pulled away, he had merely done it accidentally. He was rewarded with a smile, “I am glad that you decided to take the conversation here.” “Why?” “People would certainly talk.” Friedrich snorted, “They will talk regardless. Have you heard of the rumor that I was caught shagging a lieutenant in the conference room of the palace in Berlin?” “Oh, I have heard of it more than one time,” Giacomo laughed, and just as he had done it when Friedrich had watched him earlier, he threw his head back as he did so. “Is it true then?” Friedrich let out an indignant sound and cocked an eyebrow, though he was chuckling as well. “Excuse me? Do I appear that desperate to you?” “I did not say that,” Giacomo answered, and albeit he was no longer laughing, he had not lost his smile.

Friedrich would have liked to continue the moment for a longer time, but a wave of muffled laughter threw him back into the then and there. It would not be possible to stay away from his own festivities unless he was eager for the courtiers to talk for good. While he would not have had a problem with it, he doubted that Giacomo was as indifferent to the rumors as he was. Understandably so, considering what consequences rumors of such nature could have for him as the Venetian marquis and ambassador. He must have stayed quiet for too long, as Giacomo cleared his throat and turned away from him again, the faintest bit of blush on his cheeks. “I ought to go back -” “We must talk later,” Friedrich said, cutting him off with a gentle voice. His hopes of being able to catch up with Giacomo were running high, he did not take the possibility that Giacomo could leave in so much as an hour into consideration. “I want to talk to you,” he added. “If you do not want to...” “I would like to, Friedrich. There surely is a lot that we could talk about.” Friedrich nodded, “Indeed there is.” Giacomo nodded as well, and the Italian held his hands behind his back as Friedrich and him moved towards the door in unison. It was opened by a guard on the outside after Friedrich had tapped the handle of his cane against it twice, and the king of Prussia walked first. “Your Majesty,” Giacomo said as he came to stand in front of him in the marble hall, his hands still held behind his back as he swiftly bowed his head. Friedrich nodded and as he watched Giacomo disappear into the crowd, he did not even try to keep his eyes away from him. _Good God, those trousers look sinfully good on him_. That single thought was enough to make heat shoot up into his face - and into a lower region as well, and Friedrich wished that he would have a glass of wine nearby that he could have drowned to distract himself from the fact that he was enamoured by his childhood friend, his lost friend that he had not expected of ever getting to again. To his luck a servant neared in on him just then and Friedrich snapped his fingers to get his attention, hurrying to snatch a glass off the silver tray and take a large swallow of the sweet alcohol. He knew that he ought to calm himself, despite the feelings that had since washed over him like a tidal wave. He still knew nothing of the adult that Giacomo was. Friedrich did not know if he was married, maybe even happily so, if he had children to his name and even if he had neither, how great could the chances be of his... interest in Giacomo being returned? Slim, incredibly slim, and considering that Giacomo could very well be repelled by his feelings, Friedrich did not know if he should unbosom them at all. The Italian had since disappeared to the outside and he would have followed him if he would not have known that all they would be able to have would be meaningless conversations over court-related topics, and so Friedrich chose to seek his mother’s presence for the second time on that evening. He found her in the vestibule, to where Sophie Dorothea and her entourage had since gone to be able to listen to the orchestra playing on the terrace, and he tried to search his field of view for his, for now, most desired head of blond hair. He did not have any luck with spotting it. “I hope that you yet have to grow bored of tonight, Maman.”

Sophie Dorothea clicked her tongue to show her appreciation when Friedrich had kissed her cheek, and patted her oldest son’s back in response. In the five years that had passed since they had first talked about the traumatic scars that they both carried from their years under Friedrich Wilhelm’s authority, mother and son had slowly learned how to grow closer again and Friedrich had still been so utterly glad that he had not dismissed her during the evening in Monbijou. He surely would have given up and lost himself in his grief a long time ago if she would not have been at his side. To his surprise, she turned towards her entourage for a short moment only. “I will be back shortly.” The women, who fanned themselves out of principle, dutifully bowed their heads and Friedrich allowed his mother to link her left arm with his right. “Tell me, mon cœr,” Sophie Dorothea said as they ambled through the hall, “what were you doing in private with the ambassador? I believe that he did not have any documents that he needed to have you sign.” The vestibule was nearly empty, as the majority of the guests had since moved onto the terrace to enjoy the warm night and light music, and Friedrich thus allowed himself to answer with a playfully stern “Maman!”. Sophie Dorothea laughed and petted his forearm, “You can tell your old mother, Fritz.” The glistering in her eyes told him that she had caught sight of the pink hue on his cheeks. “Giacomo.” “Excuse me?” He chuckled, “The ambassador, Maman. It is Giacomo.” He smiled when he heard her gasp beside him, and Sophie Dorothea tugged at his arm until they came to a halt. “Giacomo?” “Yes, Maman. I believe that you can imagine my surprise.” She clicked her tongue, a soft and gentle sound that always managed to reach Friedrich’s heart. “_Oh mon Dieu_, I should not have talked about his... backside as much as I did.” “You were not the only one doing so, Maman.” “No, but I am the one who remembers the little boy that he once was. He is certainly grown up.” “He is.” Sophie Dorothea took his face into both of her hands. “You did not know that it was him, did you?” He shook his head as much as he could, swallowing hard. The lump in his throat had formed anew from one second to another. “I... never expected to see him again.” “Oh mon petit, I know.” She smiled up at him and if Friedrich would not have been so emotionally touched in that moment, he would have taken notice of the small group of courtiers that was conversing in the far back of the hall. He was glad that she understood and not mocked him for holding onto Giacomo, onto the friendship that they had, for so many years. Giacomo had been his first real friend, and if anyone else had known if, it had been his mother. “May I ask what you two talked about?” “Not much,” Friedrich said before he clenched his teeth and continued to speak through them. “Did you know that Vater got rid of the letters that Giacomo send me?” Sophie Dorothea’s eyes widened and she shook her head, looking honestly surprise. She sighed, “I did not know, but it is no surprise.” “No, it is not,” Friedrich would have liked to snarl it, though stopped himself as it would not have been fair to her. He turned towards the opened doors, “I will meet him later. To talk.” “That is good, my love. I am sure that there is a lot for you two talk.” Sophie Dorothea smiled and let go of his face, “Who would have expected such a turn.” “I cannot believe that I missed his name when I signed the order.” “It does happen, mon cœr.”

Friedrich sighed, keeping his eyes closed. He would have argued that it was not within his options to make mistakes, but he knew that she was right. “You must ensure that you will not exhaust yourself too much,” she said as if she had read his thoughts. “You are too young to lose yourself in your duties.” “It is what I was born for, Maman. He made sure that I will not ever forget about the duties of the crown.” “You are my _son_, Friedrich. I gave birth to you and loved you ever since I felt the first signs of you growing inside of me. I do not want to live my last days having to visit your tomb as well.” Friedrich swallowed. His mother had burried four of his siblings, and it would have been a lie if he would have said that he had not heard the unmasked pain in her voice. He swallowed once more, “I will try to take better care of myself, Maman.” Sophie Dorothea stroked his cheek with the back of her fingers, “Thank you. I hope that you will find your peace here.” The corners of Friedrich’s mouth pulled up into a smile, “I have no doubts. It is very peaceful here, I cannot wait to wake up to nothing but silence.” “I can imagine that, my love.” Friedrich had spend the remaining hours of the evening sauntering through the crowd of guests that he had invited to the opening of his already so beloved Sanssouci, allowing some to intertwine him into a conversation while merely nodding to some and trying to follow the music that had been played. He had eventually found Giacomo, who had been standing near the group of sculptures at the edge of the terrace and bound into a lively conversation himself. Friedrich had not joined it - he had wanted to _talk_ with him, not chatter about whatever had been within the regulations of protocol, and so he had stood and had tried to watch the younger man as unobtrusively as he only could have done it. There had been no use in denying that Giacomo was absolutely beautiful, and it had seemed that Friedrich had been able to apreciate it better from within a distance. It had not only been Giacomo’s long, lean legs and his perfectly formed backside, but the way he had gestured, the way that he had bit his lip when he had tried not to laugh at something that any of the men he had conversed with had said and how he pulled up his nose when whatever he had heard had been to his dislike. Friedrich had longed to kiss him, to losen the bow from his ponytail and drive his fingers through the long, blond hair as he would deepen the kiss. He had wondered who it would be that would take the lead, but his face had burned too greatly of embarrassment as he had done so and he had tried to hide it with an uneasy sip of wine. He surely would have liked to see him writhing underneath him, preferrably with his backside up, but he yet had to... take someone for the first time. When he still had his Katte, it had only ever been the older man that had taken him and Friedrich had been unsure whether he could do it again. _Oh!_ He had almost slapped his own forehead, how ridiculous he had been to think such things! A day ago, hours ago he had been sure that he would never be granted a chance of rekindling with his lost childhood friend and now he had been harbouring feelings and _thoughts_ about him that had no longer stood within the boarders of a friendship after having spoken to him once.

Sure, he had been lonely for years, for decades, and in every meaning of the word. His beloved Katte had been the first and the last one that he had allowed close to him and it would have been a lie if he would have said that he had not missed having someone at his side. Someone that he could love and someone that would love him back - yes, it would have been nice to, for once, not be alone, and right then Friedrich had wished for _Giacomo_ to be that someone even if he had not known if Giacomo was interested him at all. He had sighed and had sipped at his wine as he had engaged into a halfheartedly conversation with a frenchman, hardly able to wait for the festivities to come to an end. It was not until midnight that Friedrich could have thanked his guests for coming, however, and send them on their way back to the city without causing an outcry. Friedrich stood on the steps of his Sanssouci and watched, with Keith and Sophie Dorothea on either side of him, how carriage after carriage was boarded and took off into the night, the sound of hooves filling the otherwise silent air. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Giacomo, who, as the only one of the guests still present on the terrace, held his hands behind his back as he gazed up at the stars. It was such a picturesque scene that Friedrich could have looked at it for hours. “Thank you for the evening, my love,” his mother said, pulling him out of his thoughts with her words as much as with a gentle touch of her hand on his. “I am very glad that you enjoyed it, Maman.” He nodded when Sophie Dorothea reminded him to take good care of himself and write to her more often, trying to reassure her with a whispered “Yes, Maman” and Friedrich continued to stand on the stairs until Sophie Dorothea had gotten onto her gilded carriage. Keith was ordered to make sure that nothing had been damaged before the first valet could retreat for the night, and Keith accepted the order with a sharp nod. “Good night, Sire.” “Good night to you, too.” Friedrich did not take his eyes off of Giacomo as he slowly stepped down the stairs and onto the terrace, his left hand tightening around the handle of his cane when he got closer to him. “It is a beautiful night,” he said, coming to stand next to the Italian, who only moved his eyes away from the star-lit sky when he answered to Friedrich. “It is indeed.” Friedrich’s heart jumped when Giacomo did not add a “Sire” or a “Your Majesty” to his sentence. “May I show you to the gallery, Giacomo?” The younger man made a sound of surprise, “Yes of course.” “Good.” They smiled at each other and began to walk when Friedrich vaguely gestured into the direction of the palace, and he did not try to keep himself from grinning when he lead Giacomo through the marble hall and perceived a small gasp. Sanssouci had been meant to be enjoyed in private and it surely felt different to be able to look at the interior, especially the art, when there were not countless of people filling the rooms. “It is a nice place, is it not?” He turned his head to look at Giacomo from over his shoulder, just in time to see that Giacomo quickly averted his eyes away. A warm shiver crept up Friedrich’s back, triggered by the possibility that Giacomo could be watching him in the same way that he had watched him earlier. Giacomo nodded and Friedrich knew that the blush, that stood high on his cheeks, was responsible as for why he did not answer with his words.

“Do not be disappointed, it is nothing too large.” His words had the wished effect, as the Italian snorted, “I did not exactly expect to be shown to the Louvre, Friedrich.” He shook his head, but laughed as he pushed the door to the gallery open. Albeit small, the gallery offered enough space for his most cherished paintings, and Friedrich could not hide the anxiousness that rose in him when he awaited Giacomo’s reaction. Why did he care? No, it was not a question that he asked himself, for the thing that he was perplexed about the most was the fact that he cared. His entire world was, figuratively speaking, a mess, and he knew that it would take him some time until he would be able to sort it out again. “You prefer the French,” Giacomo said after he had spend a good minute sauntering along the narrow gallery and Friedrich had, of course, watched him as inconspicuously as he could have done it. He was not able to take his eyes off of him. Not that he wanted to, anyway, as in the light of the many candles Giacomo seemed as if the gallery had been build with him as its central piece of art. “I see.” “You do not?”, he asked, taking step after step to slowly reach Giacomo, who was leaning over to get a closer look at one of the paintings - a motion that accentuated his backside even more and Friedrich hoped that the heat that shot into his face was not as visible as it felt like. Giacomo snorted and looked at him, biting his lip for a moment while his eyes glistered almost mischieviously. “Am I allowed to say the truth?” Friedrich’s laugh filled the narrow room, “I expect an honest answer, Giacomo. How bad can the truth be?” The younger man joined him in his laughter, and Friedrich realized that it was a sound that he could grow used to. Oh, he could. “Well, I must say that Her Majesty the Empress of Austria does have a selection of exceptionally _squisito_ painters.” His face had nearly fallen, but when Giacomo laughed again and winked at him before he turned back towards the painting in front of him, Friedrich knew that he could most likely never be mad at him. Not if those eyes would look at him, and not if Giacomo would drag his sinfully plush bottom lip through his teeth. Friedrich did not know whether Giacomo was aware of the effects that his mannerism had on him, or anyone at that. There was the futile hope that he did know and thus did it on purpous, but Friedrich could not possibly tell the truth. He smiled back, and his smile shifted into a grin when he suddenly knew just what to say. “Austrian,” he spoke it as if it was an utterly disgusting word, though still grinning, “I should have known.” “What?” “Remember when we played with the toy soldiers every single day? Well, you always chose the weaker army.” Giacomo gasped and once more turned his head, this time to gape at him with an open mouth. “_What?_” “Oh yes, you did. And when you lost,” Friedrich cocked an eyebrow, “which happened most of the time, you were very insisting of letting me know that you let me win.” He feared that he might have said something wrong when Giacomo only stared at him for a few seconds, and he had been about to row back when the Italian did speak again. “You... remember?” Friedrich almost would have reached underneath his shirt to pull the necklace out, but he merely nodded. “I never forgot.” He took another step closer to him, “You were the first friend I ever had.” Giacomo visibly swallowed as his eyes roamed over Friedrich’s face before they gazed down at a spot that Friedrich could not make out.

“Giacomo?” “Yes?” “I had already given up the hope of ever seeing you again. I was certain that... I lost you for good, and all because of my own mistakes at that.” Without really thinking about it, Friedrich brought up his right hand to cup it against Giacomo’s cheek. He had expected him to flinch and step away, to snarl at him about how he dared to touch him like this and in his worst imagination he could already see him storming out of the gallery. But none of those things happened. Giacomo merely closed his eyes, and kept them close for as long as Friedrich’s hand laid against the side of his face. He did not say a word and while Friedrich would have liked to hear something, _anything_ from him, his silence was not inexpressive at all and it was enough to make Friedrich’s hopes skyrocket once more. “You were always so important to me,” the younger man whispered, his brown eyes meeting with Friedrich’s. “And when I thought that you...” Friedrich was both amazed and shocked to see how quickly the look in Giacomo’s eyes turned vulnerably soft at the mere mention of the topic. There was no more doubt that he was no less important to Giacomo than Giacomo was to him, and had always been. “I am sorry.” He drew in a shuddering breath, “I am truly sorry, if I had known that you were...” Friedrich trailed off, unable to complete his sentence. It would have been a lie - he had known that Giacomo had probably thought the worst of him; the only thing that he had been unaware of had been the fact that Giacomo had been truly hurt by the end of their friendship. He wanted to start anew but before he could have done so, it was the Italian that spoke. “I should have tried harder,” Giacomo whispered, and Friedrich felt the words going straight to his heart that somersaulted in response. He could not believe what he had heard. “Try harder? Giacomo...” His voice was barely above a whisper and he moved his hand from the younger man’s cheek until it reached the side of Giacomo’s neck, thus enabling his thumb to stroke the soft skin on Giacomo’s jawline. Whatever way they were going, they were going it fast and it appeared as if neither was trying to prevent it, least of all Friedrich. “You did the best that you could have done, more than I ever expected.” Giacomo sighed, his shoulders slumping, and by the way that he was blinking fast Friedrich could easily tell that he was close to tears for the second time that night. “I missed you so much, I am aware that it is ridiculous but you were so important to me and then you were no longer -” He stopped Giacomo’s torrent of words by stepping forward, tilting his head down and capturing Giacomo’s lips with his own. Friedrich had not really thought about it beforehand, and once he realised what he did, panic began to boil inside of him. _If he had just ruined the chance of rekindling their friendship... _ His mind came to a screeching halt when Giacomo’s lips began to mirror the movements of his, and the younger man gasped as Friedrich deepened the kiss, albeit only for a few short seconds before he pulled away. They stayed close enough for the tips of their noses to touch and when Friedrich opened his eyes, the first thing he saw was the pink hue that had risen into Giacomo’s cheeks. He was so breathtakingly beautiful that Friedrich could do nothing but marvel.

Giacomo gasped softly when Friedrich did not put any more space between them, and the younger man brought his hands up to rest them on Friedrich’s waist, his fingers holding onto the fabric of the waistcoat as if he needed to steady himself. If Giacomo’s knees were as weak as his was, Friedrich could understand it very well. They did not speak and when Friedrich, out of desire, brought his lips near Giacomo’s again, it was the other that closed the gap between them. Friedrich’s cane fell onto the carpeted floor with a dull _thud_ as he took Giacomo’s face into both hands, tilting his head into a different angle to be able to deepen the kiss. He licked across Giacomo’s bottom lip, intoxicated by the sweet taste of the wine the younger had drank beforehand and the taste that was uniquely _him_. It was overwhelming, as Friedrich had not felt like this for decades and it was the way that Giacomo all so willingly complied and initiated it that made it even harder for Friedrich to understand. How did they go from being childhood friends to close penfriends to strangers to... this? They were both out of breath when their lips parted, and Friedrich chuckled at the sound of surprise that Giacomo made. He stroked the skin over his cheekbones as their eyes continued to hold each other’s gazes, silence dominating the air around them. Words only would have ruined the moment. There was no need for words - Friedrich doubted that they would have been able to fully explain what had happened. He had no idea what it was, all he knew was that he did not want it to end. Friedrich laughed huskily and kissed a corner of Giacomo’s mouth, earning himself a gasp. “This...” “It certainly is not why I had planned for tonight.” Giacomo snorted before he bit his lip, a gesture that should not have send sparks into Friedrich’s nethers as much as it did. “I did not believe that I would be granted a chance to speak with you at all,” the younger whispered, his eyes darting back and forth between Friedrich’s eyes and his lips. “I never thought that I would see you again,” Friedrich answered with an equally whispered tone as he ghosted the the tip of his thumb over Giacomo’s bottom lip, his eyes widening for the slip of a second when Giacomo kissed it. _My God. _“And to have you here...” “I wonder what your _wife_ would say if she knew what you are doing with me.” The younger man had said it with a purring, unmistakably teasing voice that Friedrich had anything but expected, and he smirked at the squeal that escaped Giacomo when he let go of his face to grab his backside instead and pull him flush against him. He laughed into the side of Giacomo’s neck, “She could come and watch, for all I care.” “Friedrich!” It was amazing to see how fast the color rose into the younger man’s face, and Friedrich could not do but smile when he was reminded of the seven-year-old boy that had blushed just as fast, especially when he had jumped behind him to hide from Friedrich Wilhelm’s _Lange Kerls_ that had stood guard in Königs Wusterhausen. He would have liked to squeeze Giacomo’s backside, but found himself lacking the boldness and so he merely caressed it once as he removed his hands and stepped away to pick his discarded cane off the floor. When Friedrich straightened again, Giacomo had not moved from the spot and it was easy to see that the younger man was trying to keep his composure upright, which, judging by the way he was clenching his hands, threatened to overwhelm him - and Friedrich did not feel any different. He reached out for Giacomo, despite the fact that his hand was trembling. “Will you come with me?”


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honestly, it's much more fast burn than I wanted it to be (apart from the fact that I'm not all that happy with the chapter) and pretty cheesy but... it just wanted to be written like that :-D 
> 
> Not betaed, all mistakes are mine.

**September 1747**

“Will you come with me?” Friedrich continued to hold his hand out, trying to ignore the way that it visibly trembled. There were so many more questions that he wanted to ask - _Will you stay with me? Do you feel the same way that I do? Do you want to try this? Can we try this? Do you think that we have a choice?_ \- but he would not have managed to bring any of them out. He was too scared of being rejected, of being told that their kiss had been nothing but a kiss and that Giacomo was no longer comfortable around him, and so he kept quiet as he held his hand out, every one of the few seconds that passed by seemingly extending into eternity while the trembling in his hand increased. _Please do not say no. Please._ He tried to not let his exhale be too noticably when Giacomo’s fingers did eventually lace together with his - it had been his thoughts that had made the second-long wait so torturing, his heart somersaulted all over again when his hand was unmistakably squeezed by the younger man. “Thank you,” he breathed, a small smile ghosting over his face and when he turned around to face Giacomo, the other’s brows were pulled together in apparent confusion. He briefly wondered whether or not he had said the wrong thing, but Giacomo spoke before he had the chance to. “What are you thanking me for? I do not understand, Friedrich.” The Italian sounded honestly confused and the hint of distaste that Friedrich had feared to be met with had been, to his great relief, absent from Giacomo’s voice. “I...”, he squeezed Giacomo’s hand and albeit setting on to finish his sentence, he trailed off and only smiled instead, hoping that his smile was convincing enough to cover up the nervousness that had long taken control of him. He clicked his tongue and shook his head as he turned away from Giacomo again. “Oh, I am making such an idiot of myself...” Heat rose into his face when the younger man snorted, a highly inappropriate thing to happen to him. He was Friedrich, the king of Prussia and not some youth with their first crush. The last person that had made him react in such a way had been Katte, his beloved Katte, and if Friedrich would have been honest with himself, he would have admitted that he knew exactly why Giacomo managed to reach him where he had never expected to be reached again. He was falling in love - a thought that he, under different circumstances, would have discarded as ridiculous, but it was the truth and to his surprise, it was not too hard to understand. Giacomo had always been important to him. When they had been growing up and had let the other be a part of their lives as much as it had only been possible, Giacomo had been important. When the darkness in his head, brought up by Friedrich Wilhelm and his desire to shape Friedrich into a person that he never could have been, Giacomo had been the one that Friedrich had poured his heart out to. When they had still been friends, Friedrich had not been in love at him, at least not in the way that he was growing to feel for him then. But the base, the foundation of love, had already been laid out back then. They knew a lot of each other, if not nearly everything, and as far as Friedrich could tell, they trusted each other. Really, who could have expected him to not fall in love when he would see him again, grown into a beautiful man who was a treat to the eye as much a he was for the soul?

“_Perché sei così nervoso, Friedrich?_” Giacomo’s gentle voice pulled him from his rumaging thoughts and even though Friedrich did not understand the Italian’s mother tongue, it was soothing nonetheless. A soft palm cupped itself against his cheek, urging him to meet Giacomo’s gaze. “I am no less surprised by this than you are,” the younger man whispered and took an almost shy step closer to Friedrich, not letting go of Friedrich’s hand that he was securely holding in his as he ran the fingertips of his free hand over the side of Friedrich’s face that he had just laid it against. They traced the creases under his eyes - his mother had been right, he needed to get more sleep unless he wanted them to become a permanent feature of his face - before they moved to his laugh lines. It was a simple gesture, but Giacomo’s fingers were so gentle and Friedrich had yearned for it for so many years, for decades, that it was enought to bring tears into his eyes. He opened his mouth to speak, to voice out one of the many questions that were circling on his mind, though it was nothing but a hitch of his breath that escaped him when Giacomo kissed the corner of his mouth that his thumb had grazed a moment prior. Giacomo’s eyes were warm and so, so vulnerably deep and even though Friedrich knew that one could not fake such a look, his internalized fear yet had to remove its clasp from around his heart. “Do you think that... we can try?” Friedrich’s eyes roamed over Giacomo’s face, looking for anything that could have been a hint to him that he should not have asked, but he found nothing. Nothing but wide, glistering eyes, an endearing smile and features that could not have been more beautiful if they had been carved into marble by Bernini himself. And to think that he, Friedrich, should be the one allowed to cherish them after he had prepared to appreciate them from afar only? Giacomo nodded, and Friedrich looked down to where he had been running his thumb over the back of the younger man’s hand absentmindedly. “I would like to try. It is crazy, I know that it is, but I want to.” The corners of his mouth tugged up into a smile while his heart poured out a warmth that spread out through the entity of his body at Giacomo’s whispered words, and since he did not have a hand free he squeezed Giacomo’s hand while the Italian’s face gained a blush. He was so adorable and everything he did was so endearing to Friedrich that he already knew that he would his feelings towards him would not be any less intense in the morning. Friedrich wanted him in his life even more so than he already wanted to have him in his bed and writhing underneath him and it seemed that Giacomo was more than just a bit willing to accept the proposal he had made to him. “Thank you,” he answered with a low, husk voice. Giacomo nodded, but there yet was something that edged him in the wrong way. “But,” he brought Giacomo’s hand to his lips to kiss its back, “I do not want you to think that you are forced to agree because of who I am, Giacomo.” The younger man’s face blushed into a deeper shade, but his smile slowly grew into a grin. “Do you think that I would turn down the opportunity of becoming _Your Majesty’s_ mistress?” While his words were meant to tease, Friedrich could easily understand their true meaning. _I understand, do not worry_.

He grinned in response, leaned his cane against the wall to have his other hand free for use and wrapped his left arm around Giacomo’s waist. The Italian squealed and quickly hid his face by turning it away as he was pulled against Friedrich, whose hand was then slowly moving southwards until it was splayed over Giacomo’s backside. Oh, he could get used to it. Friedrich chuckled, his last bit of doubt blown away. “The opportunity of becoming my mistress,” he purred, lowering his head to be able to speak into the air next to Giacomo’s ear, “so that is what you had in mind?”, and for the first time allowed himself to give in to the desire of squeezing those alluring cheeks. Giacomo bucked against him and gasped, turning his head to look at him again and Friedrich knew that they were already getting along perfectly fine. “Do you believe yourself to be that desirable?” His heart soared when he noticed how Giacomo was pushing his hips back into his hand and if the blush on Giacomo’s beautiful face would be the only thing that he would be allowed to look at for the rest of his life, he would have been fine with it. The younger man laughed and kissed Friedrich’s cheeks before the somewhat stunned king of Prussia could have come up with an answer. “You are a brat,” Friedrich laughed, shaking his head as he looked at down at Giacomo, who had since sucked his bottom lip between his teeth - there was no mistaking in the fact that the Italian knew what he was doing. “What a disappointment, you certainly behaved better when you were seven years old.” Giacomo’s laughter was loud and filled the room around him and the tension in Friedrich’s chest told of how little he had expected to ever hear it. Within a single day he had not only gained Sanssouci, his very own heaven that he had always longed to have, but as it seemed also a person that he could allow into his life again. It was too much for him to properly think about and if he would have been honest with himself, he would have admitted that he yet had to fully believe that it was _Giacomo’s_ laughter that had filled the room and that it was _Giacomo’s_ backside he was groping at. Without really perceiving it Friedrich had moved them backwards until Giacomo had eventually stumbled against one of the marble tables that stood underneath the Venetian mirrors. Blue eyes met with brown, and Friedrich did not miss how Giacomo’s were holding onto the back of his waistcoast while the younger parted his legs just enough for Friedrich to place one of his thighs in between them. He did so, and Giacomo’s lip was let free from between his teeth when Friedrich took his face into his hands to stroke his cheeks. Good God, it was not as if Giacomo had not been breathtakingly beautiful when he had first laid eyes upon him during the festivities - he had been, enough so to figuratively knock Friedrich out of his shoes - but in the warm, yellow light of the chandelier above them, he was beautiful enough to cause a lump to form in Friedrich’s throat. Giacomo did not comment when his head was tilted back so that Friedrich could take a closer look at him, if all his eyes grew a bit more softer. “You are so beautiful,” he whispered. “So beautiful, Giacomo...” A smile formed on Giacomo’s lips and he tilted his head into Friedrich’s right palm, their gazes never breaking apart. “Thank you.” Friedrich snorted, “Thank me? I am certain that you get to hear it a lot.” “I do, but not from those that I do want to hear it from.”

Friedrich did not answer right away and instead leaned down to kiss a corner of his mouth before he whispered, “Is there a wife waiting for your return to Venice?”. He may not like whatever answer he would get, but it was a question that would have needed to be asked anyway. “I never married.” “What?”, Friedrich pulled back to be able to look at him, the crease between his brows speaking of his confusion. His own cheeks grew a bit more warm when Giacomo lifted a hand to ease the crease out with fingers that never seemed to be anything but gentle. “I never married,” he repeated and snorted at the way that Friedrich rolled his eyes in an exaggerated manner. “I heard you well enough, Giacomo.” Friedrich kissed the same corner of Giacomo’s mouth. “But how did it come that you never married? Your father surely must have arraged it.” “I have five older brothers, Friedrich, and I was the unexpected latecomer of the family. There were never really any duties put onto my shoulders except to listen to my mother practicing her singing every evening and be a good lap child. My father merely reminded me that I must not produce any illegitimate children when I told him that I was not interested in marriage,” Giacomo shrugged, “and _that_ is a _very_ easy thing for me to not do as I am not interested in -” Friedrich silenced him with a kiss, which he deepened as soon as the parting of Giacomo’s lips gave him the permission to. “You surely do talk a lot,” he chuckled after he had finished kissing him, hasting a kiss onto the younger man’s bottom lip before he straightened. “I am sorry.” “Do not be, I like it.” He did, there were no worse people to talk to than those that he needed to beg for every single word. Smiling, Friedrich brushed a strand of hair behind Giacomo’s ear, “Your father is a kind man,” and swallowed when the blond’s smile faded barely noticably. “Yes, he was.” Their fingers blindly found each other and laced together, and Friedrich’s heart somersaulted for what had to be the hundredth time on that day as he felt how Giacomo squeezed his hand. “Except for the one time that he spanked me in front of you and half of the court in Wusterhausen. I never forgave him for that.” “Are you telling me that those few smacks were the only ones you ever received from your father?” Friedrich cocked an eyebrow, having doubts believing what he had heard while Giacomo giggled much like he had done it when he had still been a seven-year-old boy. “I was a very well behaved child, Friedrich, you just said so yourself.” “You were well-behaved once. Now you are a brat.” Giacomo lips drew into a pretentious pout, “Aw what a shame,” and he stole a kiss from Friedrich before taking the hand that he had been holding into both of his. The Prussian shook his head as he reached for his cane and pulled Giacomo away from where he had been practically sitting on the edge of the table. “Where are you taking me?” “My rooms.” He should have known that his words could have been misunderstood and when Giacomo’s face turned into a deep shade of red and took a step away from him, albeit without letting go of his hand, he knew that they had been misunderstood. “Friedrich...” “For a drink,” Friedrich hurried to answer, his own cheeks tinted into a shade of pink. “A drink. There is a lot that we can talk about.” To his relief, Giacomo closed the gap between them again. “There is.”

“Come with me, then.” He kept the hold on Giacomo’s hand a very gentle one as he walked them both to the far end of the petit gallery, his thumb absentmindedly ghosting over the soft skin that he could not resist touching. Giacomo. His heart yet needed to calm, yet needed to stop sending hot waves of nervousness through his body that made him anxious of every single step he took. He tried not to listen to the doubt which resided so heavily on his mind - he just could not fathom that he was lucky, _blessed_ enough for someone like Giacomo to be eager to seek his presence, and he tried his hardest not to think of Katte as he pushed the door to the passage towards his room open. He knew that he would have been scared off if he would reveal the still quite painful memories he carried with and of his lost love, and he would have been anything but happy if he would have found out that Giacomo had someone like Katte on his heart. As if he needed the most unnecessary reassurance that he was not losing him already, Friedrich threw a quick look over his shoulders when he opened the second door. Giacomo was still there, and a warm smile was lighting up his face that still had not lost the pink hue it had gained moments ago. He could love him, and Friedrich knew that it would not take him much for him to do so. It was a realization that left a bitter aftertaste, for him growing to love Giacomo would inevitably mean and require that Katte would no longer be the center of his very own universe - anything else would not have been fair to the younger man, and he knew that they would have no chance at all if he would not let go of Katte. He would not forget him, of course he would not, he never would, but if there would be another person in his life he would need to think about his priorities... His repetative thoughts were forced into the back of his mind, for a short while at least, when he opened the third and last door and was greeted with an entire array of barks and excited whines. Even though Giacomo stood behind him, Friedrich noticed his flinch at the sudden loud noises but before he could have turned around to console him, he was already jumped at by the handful of his most beloved Italian greyhounds and he had no choice but to let go of Giacomo’s hands to be able to pet them. He walked further into the room while the dogs jumped around and hopped up at him, the wagging of their tails speaking of how excited they were for him to have returned. Just like every time that Friedrich was with his dogs, he did not even try to stop himself from smiling. The animals fought amongst themselves to get a chance of pushing their heads into Friedrich’s palms, wanting to be petted by their master. He spend a few moments, maybe even a minute or two, fully focused on them. Oh, how many dark days they had helped him to get through. Incredible animals, they were. Giacomo kept himself in the background, but one look at him told Friedrich that it was not due to politeness. No, the younger seemed positively frightened where he stood with his back against the door, and Friedrich could see right through his mask of set-up courtesy. “You do not have to fear them.” He laughed at the glare that he receive from Giacomo, but his laugh was not meant to tease. Friedrich knew that the it was a fear of the same nature that made it impossible for him to stay in a room without a window - based on a traumatic experience in the past.

He offered a reassuring smile as he reached out with his hand, “Trust me, there is no reason for you to fear them.” Friedrich barely managed to hide his grin when Giacomo turned up his nose in what had to be the most adorable way. “Trust me,” he tried again, still holding his hand out while his dogs were begging for his attention by nipping and tugging at his pant legs. “They... _bite_, Friedrich,” the younger man answered quite pertly and raised his chin as if he needed to assert his apparent dominance over the dogs that really wanted nothing than to play and be petted. _Adorable_, Friedrich thought, and he allowed himself to grin as he took another step into Giacomo’s direction. “Trust me.” He could see Giacomo swallow hard as obviously as he saw the way that Giacomo’s eyes were darting back and forth between him and the dogs at his feet, “I...”, and at the younger man’s helpless stuttering took Giacomo’s hand into his before he turned towards his dogs. “Biche, assieds-toi. Patroclus, toi aussi!” The two of the dogs that he addressed, as well as the two others, obeyed within an instant and pointed their eyes as they sat down, their tails not stopping in their wagging. It could have been ridiculous - someone being afraid of his Windspiele, who were anything but terrifying beasts, but Friedrich never would have titled Giacomo as ridiculous. He knew that the other had his reasons. “They will not bite you, Giacomo. I can assure you that they will not do so.” Ah, that was it. Giacomo flinched, barely noticably but visibly enough for Friedrich to catch it, at the mention of being bitten by the dogs. He tugged him close when Giacomo only continued to look on with a stark red face, and Friedrich wished that he would not feel the need to be embarassed about his fear. “You can pet them if you want to.” “I do not think that...” It was not his intention to force him, but when Giacomo’s right hand froze a few inches above Biche’s head, he did reach out after a moment of consideration, put his hand on top of Giacomo’s and guided it down until his most beloved dog, Biche, lifted her head to sniffle at his palm. “She will not bite you,” he spoke with a low voice. “Biche is scared of mice, Giacomo. I believe that she was once bitten by one.” Friedrich’s words had the wished effect. Giacomo snorted, rolled his eyes but bit his lower lip as Friedrich moved his hand until he was stroking the dog’s fur. “Now look at that,” Friedrich exclaimed with a laugh, and his heart somersaulted when he looked at Giacomo just when the younger looked at him as well, their eyes meeting and keeping each other for a long few seconds before they broke apart. He yet had to remove his hand from on top of Giacomo’s - not that either of them seemed to care, but it eventually happened when Giacomo took a step back, out of reflex Friedrich suspected, in response to Biche trying to hop up at him. “She likes you.” Giacomo may not have known, but it was no secret that Friedrich considered Biche’s judgement of people most important. Until then, she had always been right when it had came to tell bad people apart from good and if she liked Giacomo... well, it would have been a lie if he would have said that he would be able to dismiss him even if she would not have liked him. The Italian stood frozen to the spot as the white dog continued to jump up and down with a wagging tail, eager to be paid attention to.

“You can sit down if you like to,” Friedrich said as he pointed to the round table by the window, and he smirked, shaking his head when Giacomo almost crept towards it, Biche and the other dogs following him. It was too adorable, really. He made a detour to the small side table that stood next to the door to pick an apricot from the fruit basket, and he split the fruit into two as he moved to join Giacomo, who had since taken a seat in one of the two chairs. “Here,” Friedrich offered one half of the apricot to the younger man. Giacomo’s face was still aflame, but by then he was at least touching the whining dog on his own accord. “You can give her a treat.” The Italian muttered something that Friedrich did not understand as he accepted the offered fruit, and Friedrich allowed himself to laugh when Giacomo laid it out into his palm as if he was about to feed a horse. He did not comment on it, instead merely sat back and watched the dog happily devoured its treat. When Biche jumped onto Giacomo’s lap in the same manner that she always did it with him he expected the younger man to jump out of the chair in fright, but it did not happen. While Giacomo had flinched at first, involuntarily as it seemed, he gave in after few seconds and brought a hand up to scratch the dog behind its ears. “I do think that we are becoming friends,” Giacomo said with a faint laughter, clearing his throat when his voice quavered a bit and managing a small smile that he directed at Friedrich. The king of Prussia leaned further back into his chair and folded his hands in his lap, latter to get a figurative hold of the emotions that were claiming him. Good God, he wanted to get used to that. _He wanted to keep him_. “I am glad,” he answered, “for my dogs and I cannot be seperated.” He hoped that his hint had been subtile and yet clear enough for Giacomo to understand what his intention was, and he knew that he had been sucessful when the other offered another honest smile in response. Silence fell over them as Giacomo continued to pet Biche and Friedrich watched him doing so, the situation merely changing when the dog had apparently gotten enough attention and jumped off Giacomo’s lap in one gracious movement. They both laughed. “Could I have the drink you promised?” “Promised?”, Friedrich cocked a playful eyebrow. “You can be glad that you are my...” He trailed off, unsure how to complete his sentence, and his jaw almost snapped shut when Giacomo laughed and shook his head. Giacomo had not meant to tease him, and the prospect of being laughed at was not touched Friedrich so. No, it was the fact that his smile had, from one second to another, shifted from lighthearted to sorrowful and the sheer amount of years that they had lost hit Friedrich like a ton of bricks. He wanted to say something, anything, but he knew that no word would escape him if he would open his mouth and to save himself from the embarrassment, he turned around and walked towards the table that he had picked the fruit from to fill two glasses with a generous amount of wine. “Thank you,” Giacomo said when a glass was placed on the table in front of him, and Friedrich nodded in acknowledgement before they both drank. It was strange, a short while ago they had been kissing and boldy flirting with each other in the gallery but then Friedrich was unsure about how he was supposed to start the conversation they would need to have.

His own glass already half empty and back on the table, he watched how Giacomo turned the foot of his glass on the wooden surface with unsteady fingers. Friedrich could see that he was nervous, and while he had since managed to get his trembling hands under control, he did not feel any different. He opened his mouth to speak, but when his and Giacomo’s eyes met, they both broke out into laughter and at that, the tension disappeared. “So,” he said, “tell me about yourself.” “What?” Friedrich raised the rim of his glass to his lips, a smile flashing over his face. “Is it wrong that I want to find out about what you did in all those years.” “No, it is not. Will you tell me about you as well?” He nodded, “I hope that you are interested as well.” “I am, I... I did miss you a lot, Friedrich.” Giacomo’s right hand was resting on the top of the table as he toyed with glass’ stem, and his nervous fidgeting only ceased when Friedrich’s rested his hand on top of Giacomo’s and squeezed it once, gently so. “Be assured that I missed you even more.” The younger man shook his head, but did not try to argue about Friedrich’s claim. “Tell me everything, Giacomo. Do not think any of it to be unimportant.” So Giacomo told him. He told him how he, after having finished his studies in Paris, had travelled through Europe. He told him about the lavish parties that he had attended at various courts - and Friedrich raised his eyebrows without really noticing himself doing it. French and British, Spanish and Dutch, Württembergian and Saxon, Bavarian and Austrian, Giacomo had resided at most of Europe’s elite courts ever since his father had passed the title of Duke of Venice onto his eldest brother. The Italian went on to talk for a few minutes longer, in which he mostly told Friedrich of the music, literature and art that he favoured the most and Friedrich listened, turned towards Giacomo while nipping at the wine. He could have listened to him forever as much as he could have watched Giacomo gesture and throw his head back at ever laugh. The younger was just so beautiful, inside and out, and Friedrich knew that he had already grown much too fond of him. Giacomo’s cheeks were a bit blushed when he finished talking and looked at Friedrich as if he feared that what he had said had not been what he had wanted to hear. “I do have one question.” Giacomo nodded. “What happened that you are so afraid of dogs?” The groan that followed made Friedrich laugh, and it would have been a lie if he would have said that it was not utterly endearing to see how embarrassed Giacomo was over something that, most likely, was no as embarrassed as he believed it to be. “So,” the younger man shifted in his chair, “the summer after I visited you my father took me to an estate in the countryside that my family owns and the groundkeeper, who was a frightening man I must say, had these _large_ dogs that could have gone through as wolves and...”, he vaguely gestured with is hands, “for some reason they believed that I was an intruder and set out to chase me. They would have gotten me if my father would not have gone in between.” “That must have been scary, especially since you were so young.” Giacomo snorted, “It was, and I know that your dogs obviously could not harm me but...” “I understand, there is no need for you to explain yourself to me.”

“You are a very kind man, Friedrich.” Friedrich set down the glass that he had still held onto, despite the fact that it was as good as empty, and when his eyes met Giacomo’s, triggering a clenching in his chest, he knew that he had fallen in love. For the second time in his life he had fallen in love and for the second time it had been head over heals. He just hoped that it would not end as horrible as it had the first time, for he could not live through such a tremendous loss again. “Would it be alright for you to come here?” He did not know as for why he had said it. It would have been his turn to talk about his life, about the years that, other than Giacomo’s, had been filled out with pain and sorrow that would have been enough for more than just a single lifetime, about the music that he loved and the literature that he enjoyed the most. It would have been his turn, as he had promised, but something told him that it would be better if he would not simply talk on. Giacomo did indeed stand up from his chair. Oh, he did, and their eyes did not let go of each other’s gazes as Giacomo moved around the table until he came to stand in front of Friedrich. _My God, how beautiful he was._ “You are so beautiful, Giacomo,” Friedrich said with a voice barely above a whisper. He looked up at the blond as he reached out, slowly and almost reluctantly so, to lay his hands onto his hips, this thumbs stroking small circles on the fabric of Giacomo’s trousers. Friedrich’s heart clenched when he spotted the glimmer in Giacomo’s eyes and the color on his cheeks, and he wished that he would have been able to kiss him when Giacomo rested his hands on his forearms. “Friedrich...” “I do not have the words to tell you how much I have missed you... I thought that I would never see you again, and it tore me apart.” He could hear the hitching in Giacomo’s breath from above him and felt how the fingers on his arms tightened their hold as if Giacomo feared that he would topple over if he would not do so. Friedrich watched him closely, and when he noticed that the younger was no longer meeting his gaze, he knew that it was him who needed to act. Without saying a word he removed his hands from where they had been resting on Giacomo’s hips and took a hold of the younger man’s wrists instead, gently tugging in an equally wordless proposal. His fear that the other might not understand it was short-lived. The Italian’s face gained a deeper hue of pink as his body followed the pulling on his wrist and he lowered himself into a straddling position on Friedrich’s lap, a soft gasp escaping him when their faces were at the same height once again.”So beautiful.” Friedrich let go of Giacomo’s wrists to follow the slight curve of his back with the tips of his fingers, his breath catching in his throat as he _felt_ the shiver than ran through Giacomo’s body in response. The weight of Giacomo on top of him was a comfortable one, and while it was the first time that he had another sitting on top of him, he sensed that it could not have been any more intimate even if they would not have been fully dressed. He followed the curve back down with a teasing slowness and let out a satisfied sound that stood somewhere between a laugh and a moan as he splayed his hands over those alluring backside cheeks that he had spend the majority of the evening gazing at. Giacomo’s hips bucked as if the two actions were coherent, but what really caused Friedrich’s heart to somersault was the way that his name was breathed out.

“Friedrich.” Another whisper of his name, which blurred into a moan when he leaned forward and brushed his lips against the side of Giacomo’s neck before he kissed a spot underneath his jaw that he knew was a sensitive one. He took his time to caress it, to close his lips around it and suck prior to using just a hint of teeth and sucking again - leaving behind a love bite that Giacomo would not be able to hide. So they can see that he is mine it flashed through Friedrich’s mind, making his own hips twitch and a low growl escape from the back of his throat. “I want you,” he brought out between two kisses to the spot he had bruised, and albeit it had been a most unnecessary confession, Giacomo still answered to it with a whimper. He had since wrapped his right arm around Friedrich’s shoulders while he was holding onto the edge of the table with his left hand in order to keep his balance, and when Friedrich leaned back, he saw that Giacomo was biting his bottom lip in order to keep his whines and moans silenced. Friedrich clicked his tongue and brought a hand up to pull Giacomo’s bottom lip out from between his teeth with his thumb, “You must not do that.” “But -” He took ahold of his chin and kissed him before Giacomo finished speaking, pushed his tongue past his plush lip to initate a dance of their tongues in which he took the lead. Oh, he loved how responsive Giacomo was to his touches and how eagerly he accepted his quite bold suggestions. “There is no one here that could hear you but me,” Friedrich said with a low voice before he stole yet another kiss from the younger man. “Friedrich?” “Hm?” “I want you, too. I know that...” _It is crazy, maybe even stupid and definitely too soon?_ Friedrich knew it too, oh he knew. It were questions of doubt that clawed at his heart, at his hope of being able to keep Giacomo at his side. He had not even wanted to think about whether or not Giacomo had planned to eventually return to Venice. “Sh, I know.” “_Oh grazie a Dio_”, the Italian said with a sigh and a relieved laugh, taking Friedrich’s face into his hands to kiss him deeply. “_Avevo paura che mi avresti respinto._” “You know very well that I do not speak Italian.” “_Io so._” Friedrich would have been confused by Giacomo’s behaviour if he would not have seen the glimmer of mischief flashing through those wide, vulnerable eyes, and he answered in the way he hoped that Giacomo wanted him to - he firmly kept his gaze locked with Giacomo’s as he placed a hand on his backside and his throat each, squeezing at the same time. The color that shot into the younger man’s face was not due to the gentle pressure that Friedrich applied to his throat, so much was sure, and he could not do but to kiss him again. Giacomo complied, _whimpered _when Friedrich kept a gentle but steady hold on his throat and he knew that he would not be able to keep his hands off him at court if he would continue to make those sounds and look at him with such open vulnerability. He had not noticed how one of Giacomo’s hands had since wandered southward, and he thus jumped when those slender fingers wrapped themselves around the prominent strain in his breeches that he had tried to ignore. He did not want to scare him off by appearing too needy, too desperate to end the loneliness that he had went through for years and he had been about to open his mouth and stutter an explanation when Giacomo simply ran the tip of his index finger over his rigid and throbbing cock.

Giacomo, who must have regained his courage, kissed him as he repeated the small, but very effective motion. Friedrich cupped his face to pull him closer into the kiss as his hips thrusted up into the simple touch, decades had passed since he last had another one touch him there. Katte had been the first and the last one who he had allowed close to him; Friedrich squeezed his eyes shut and continued to kiss Giacomo, he did not want to think about the love he had already lost if there was a new one blooming right then, and right on his lap. “May I?” He pulled away to look at Giacomo, brushing a loose strand of hair behind his ear. “You do not have to.” “But I -” “Giacomo, listen to me. I do not demand -” Giacomo stood up from his lap, and just when he thought that he may have done, or said, the wrong thing, the younger man sank down onto his knees. _Good God._ “Giacomo -” “I want to, Friedrich,” Giacomo said with a husky laugh as he shuffled foreward between Friedrich’s parted legs. “You could not force me to do such thing. I promise.” Friedrich did not answer right away. He merely cupped his hand against Giacomo’s cheeks, who then turned his face into his palm to reassure him by kissing it softly, and at the small nod he gave, Giacomo ran his hand along the insides of his thighs and his pelvis - gracefully missing his cock - before he loosened the fly of Friedrich’s trousers and hooked his fingers underneath the waistband. Friedrich complied, lifting his hips to allow his trousers to be tugged down just enough to reveal his cock that bounced as soon as it was freed. He could not think, he could not speak even though he urgently wanted to do so. All that he was able to do was to watch Giacomo, to watch his friend, the man that he had not believed of ever seeing again kneeling between his legs and looking up at him with eyes that he could have drowned in. _He was falling in love._ Even though he did not speak, he reached out to free the younger man’s hair from where it was held back by a bow at the same time that the base of his cock was enclosed with gentle fingers. His breath hitched and his hips twitched, heat rising into his face as Giacomo chuckled quietly. The younger man moved a bit closer and while Friedrich wanted to watch, he failed to keep his eyes from rolling back into his head when the kiss to the head of his cock was immediately followed by a long lick across its underside. He drove the fingers of his right hand into Giacomo’s hair and pressed his left hand, clenched into a fist, against his lips as Giacomo repeated the motion. He was unable to think, and yet his mind was racing. Giacomo, it was _Giacomo_ who was pleasing him with his mouth - Giacomo, his Giacomo, who he had been reunited with just this evening while he had, just this afternoon, been certain that he had lost him. Friedrich managed to open his eyes in time to see how the pair of plush, wet lips closed around the head of his cock that was already leaking precum, and not a single sense-making word left him when Giacomo sucked at it once before he took him into the back of his throat in one swift movement. His broken cry filled the room and if it had alarmed his dogs, Friedrich did not care. He could not; not when Giacomo’s sinfully skilled tongue continued to caress his cock as he bobbed his head. There was no mistaking in the fact that Giacomo knew exactly what he was doing - and the realization had triggered a how flash of jealousy to shoot through Friedrich’s body.

It had no right of doing so, it would have been positively brainless if he would have expected Giacomo to have lived in voluntarily solitude and right then, Giacomo’s skills were a blessing for him. The enticing sight of his cock, slick with split and moving past Giacomo’s lip was too much for him, he had been approaching his climax at an intoxicating speed and when Giacomo took him onto another trip down his throat, when he swallowed him to hilt and purred while fondling his balls, he flew over the edge. Friedrich came with a cry and if he happened to push Giacomo’s head further down, the younger did not put up a fight but accepted it as he swallowed what Friedrich had to give him. “G-Giacomo...” He was certain that the tremble, which had started out in his thighs, had since spread out through his entire body and he watched, still heavily breathing, how Giacomo licked him clean before he let his softening cock slip from his swollen lips. The younger man was breathing just as hard as he sat back onto his heels, his face flushed pink and his eyes glistering. Giacomo gasped when Friedrich took him by the back of his neck and pulled him up into a breathtaking kiss, his arms wrapping themselves around the Prussian’s neck. The fact that he could _taste_ himself on Giacomo’s lips drove Friedrich near the point where he would have been ready to fuck him over the table while making every single one of the courtiers, which had shamelessy lusted after him, watch. Friedrich had heard a lot of their whispers, be it by himself or through short reports from Keith. He knew that Giacomo was a man that many would want to have, but he was his. _His_, there was no other option that Giacomo would be his. If it would mean that he would have to claim him from the whole lot of Europe, Friedrich swore on his title that he would not hesitate to do it. “I... God, you were so good,” he gasped as they broke apart from the kiss, and he helped Giacomo back onto his knees. The younger’s knees were far from steady - understandably so, and when Friedrich offered him his drink, Giacomo accepted it with a nod. “I sure hope so,” Giacomo laughed between two sips. Friedrich gracefully ignored the wet spots on the front of the younger’s trousers, unsure whether it would embarrass him or not, and instead tucked his flacid cock back into his breeches before he pulled Giacomo onto his lap for the second time. He smiled when the younger hid his face into the crook of his neck and closed his arms around him as good as the chair he was sitting in allowed it, and Friedrich kissed Giacomo’s temple before he embraced him as well. “May I ask you something?” “Of course.” “When did you... get so good at it?” He chuckled at Giacomo’s snort. “Do you want to know?” “I asked you, Liebling.” _Liebling_ had passed over his lips so self-evidently, and while it caused his heart to somersault, Giacomo did not seem to mind it. “Paris was a... revealing time of my life.” “I can imagine.” Friedrich did not know whether it was the jealousy or the waves of his orgasm - but he wanted to know who had gotten to experience such intimacy with Giacomo. “If you do not mind me asking... will you tell me who it was? Or who they were?”

“They? Are you implying that I am a whore, Friedrich?” “No! Nonono I am not -” “I do know that,” Giacomo’s voice was as smooth as silk as he brushed his lips over Friedrich’s neck as the other had done it to him, and Friedrich smiled as he waited for the kiss that he knew was coming. “I am merely teasing you, Friedrich.” It was sweet and teasing, no longer as heated. They were both spend. “Tell me then, Liebling. Tell me.” Giacomo grinned at him for a moment longer before he stole a quick kiss from Friedrich and leaned down to whisper into his ear, “There is a reason as for why they call him _le Bien-Aimé_.” “What?” His voice was pitched high, much more than Friedrich had wanted it, and he stared at Giacomo in open disbelieve as the younger sat back up. “_Him?_” Who he had expected he did not know, but Louis de France had not been it. “I asked you if you wanted to know...” He stroked Giacomo’s cheek with the back of his fingers, “And I thank you for telling me. But him?” The Italian shrugged and Friedrich tried his hardest to not let any jealousy boil over. “For how long...” “Almost a year.” He nodded, trying not to think about how it meant that Giacomo had probably loved him at some point. It no longer mattered, it was the past. It was him who Giacomo was with for now and as if the other had read his thoughts, he talked on, “There are no lost feelings, Friedrich.” The Prussian nodded yet again, smiled and ran his fingers through Giacomo’s hair that hung low onto his chest. “Will you tell me about yours as well?” Friedrich swallowed, but managed to keep his smile from faltering. “Another time. It is a long story, but I will tell it to you. I promise.”


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not betaed, all mistakes are mine.

**September 1747**

“I shall believe you then.” It had not only been Giacomo’s words that had made Friedrich’s heart soar, but the smile that had tugged at Giacomo’s lips as well. Latter had told him that there had not been an ounce of falsehood behind what he had said. “Thank you for trusting me,” Friedrich had whispered and had repeated the motion of running his fingers through the softness of the blond, long hair. “It is self-evident that I do, Friedrich. You did not betray my trust.” “I should have written you.” He had felt a stab in his chest when he had remembered the tears that had stood in Giacomo’s eyes earlier that evening, and how the younger had obviously been hurt by the way that they had drifted apart from each other. Yes, it had not been fair, and it would not have happened if Friedrich would not have been desperate enough to attempt an escape that had been doomed to fail from the very beginning on. Giacomo had still been smiling, but Friedrich had known that he had not just imagined the way that the smile had no longer reached his eyes. “You did not,” Giacomo had whispered, and he had looked down to watch Friedrich’s finger working through his hair before he had raised his gaze again. “And look at me, I am here even though you did not do so.”_ You should have been so earlier_, it had shot through his mind, a thought that had made him swallow hard in order to keep the vulnerable construct of his feelings and his compassion upright. “I am very grateful for it, but I... would not have minded it if you would have came sooner.” He had swallowed against and had, unable to keep his gaze locked with Giacomo’s any longer, averted it to where he had been touching the blond’s hair. Giacomo had shifted a bit in his lap to get into a more comfortable position, and just as he had began to fear that what he had said had been the wrong thing, the pair of gentle hands had came up to take his face into a gentle hold. Friedrich had allowed for his head to be tilted back, a comforting warmth collecting in his chest at the soft, bearly humming sound that had left the younger man’s throat and his eyes closed on their own accords when Giacomo had leaned down and kissed him with such a sheer amount of gentleness that Friedrich could have bursted into tears from it alone. He had forgotten how nice it was to have someone to cherish him, and how _healing_ gestures such as the kiss, in which he had lost himself in that moment, had been. Friedrich’s hands had loosely rested on Giacomo’s hips, his thumbs running blind circles on the fabric of his trousers and feeling the hint of the muscles that had laid underneath it. Albeit Giacomo had sat back after their lips had parted, he had not let go of Friedrich’s face. He had followed the curve of Friedrich’s bottom lip with one thumb while the other had been tracing the Prussian’s jawline, his touches so light and gentle that Friedrich had wondered what he had done to deserve such gentleness. Trying to ignore the increasing burn in his eyes, he had leaned into the touch.

“I would have came sooner if I would have known that you did not cast me aside.” “Giacomo...” Friedrich had needed to swallow hard when he had came to face with the vulnerability, the unmasked _hurt_ in those brown eyes that had been so similar, and yet so different from Katte’s. They had been unique, of course they had been, and already so familiar that he had never wanted to miss them again. “Come here,” he had said with a voice barely above a whisper, and Giacomo had responded within an instant. The younger man had leaned forward, slowly and steadily, until he had sank against Friedrich’s chest and Friedrich had closed his arms around him as soon as Giacomo’s face had been hidden in the crook of his neck. He had smiled to himself when he had felt Giacomo’s hands toying with buttons of his waistcoat. “I am sorry.” There had been a lot of things that he had been sorry for; he had been sorry for hurting him without even knowing that he had done so, for not having been able to give himself the push he would have needed to sit down and write the latter that could have reunited them sooner, for having believed that Giacomo had not valued the friendship that they had. He had been sorry and even though Giacomo had been sitting on his lap after he had sank to his knees and had taken Friedrich’s cock between his gorgeous lips, Friedrich had been unsure what he could have said or done that would have been an adequate apology for his mistakes. It would not bring the years back, but it ought to ease the ache in his heart. Leaning his cheek against Giacomo’s head, Friedrich had closed his eyes when he had heard a small, contented sigh coming from the younger man. “I could fall asleep like this,” Giacomo had said after a short while of silence between them had passed, breathing a laugh against the skin of Friedrich’s neck. The huff of warm air had made Friedrich shiver, which alone had been an embarrassing thing. He surely would not have acted so utterly awkward if he would not have spend so many years in solitude before - if he would have been honest with himself, he would have needed to admit that he had been unsure how to behave with another person so close to him. “I do not think that I would be able to walk tomorrow if you would do so,” he had chuckled, brushing his lips against Giacomo’s temple and loosening his arms from around him when it had became obvious that the other had wanted to stand up. “Then I shall not do so.” The yawn that had followed had told him what he had already feared: that they would eventually be forced to call it a night. Not that he had not been tired himself, but he had not wanted to let go of him just yet. Giacomo had offered him a much more tired smile as he had moved around the table to sit in his own chair again, reaching for the half empty jug of wine to fill a bit more into his glass. “Friedrich?” He had changed his position in the chair, partly to play over the fact that he had already missed the warm weight on top of him, “Yes, what is it?” “I...”, Giacomo had cleared his throat, “you have ordered your wife to leave with the rest of the guests.” Friedrich had cocked an eyebrow and laughed, “Indeed I did.” “Well, she did leave as ordered and I was supposed to return to Berlin with her...” It had taken him a couple of seconds, and Friedrich’s eyebrows had pulled together when he had understood what Giacomo had tried to hint at. “What makes you think that I want you to leave?” 

The younger man had not answered, but the blush on his face had told Friedrich that he had asked the right question. He had watched Giacomo take a slow sip from the wine. “There is more than enough room for you here, in Sanssouci.” It had been adorable to see, how the color on Giacomo’s cheek had turned into a deeper hue and how he had obviously tried to hide it. “You may retreat to one of the guest rooms.” “That is... very kind of you, Friedrich.” The Prussian had smiled,”It is the least that I can do for you.” “You _could_ dismiss me and make me walk to the city to find a place to sleep,” Giacomo had said, his pretentious sternness dissolving into a hearty laugh that had filled the room at the look he had received from Friedrich. “Do you think that I would do such a thing to you?” He had, of course, known that Giacomo had merely teased him, and had thus smiled back as he had closely watched the other. “Do you?” Licking across his bottom lip in a way that had caused Friedrich’s heart to somersault, Giacomo had taken his time to answer. “No,” he had eventually said, “but there is another problem.” “Is there?”, Friedrich had taken a sip of his own drink. “Considering that I did not plan on staying here I did not bring any of my belongings,” the younger man had said, his voice having dropped a bit lower as if he had been ashamed of having admitted to it. “No nightshirt and no change of -” “Come with me.” “What?” For the second time that night, Friedrich had held out his hand after he had stood from his chair, “Come with me, I want to show you something,” and for the second time, Giacomo had accepted the invitation. Friedrich had lead him to the passage that they had crossed through earlier and had let go of his hand to open the top of the unimpressive wooden chest, which had stood in a far corner. “Friedrich -” He had made satisfied sound when he had found what he had looked for and had closed the chest again before he had turned around towards Giacomo. “It should fit you well enough, I believe.” Whatever Giacomo had wanted to say seemed to have been forgotten when his eyes had fallen upon the piece of clothing that Friedrich had been holding. “Take it.” The passage had been dark, scarcely lit with the light of a single candle holder on the wall, but Friedrich had still been able to see that Giacomo’s face had blushed even more intensely. It had been the aspect that he had found the uttermost endearing, that the man who could handle situations at court with so much grace and confidence, as Friedrich had witnessed it, had blushed so furiously in his presence. “You do not have to,” Giacomo had tried with a soft voice, motioning that he had been willing to give the satin robe back to Friedrich. “Hush, it is only appropriate for you to have it. I do not want you to catch a cold by sleeping... without it.” He had wanted to say “naked”, but his heart had already somersaulted from the thought of it alone. God, he had been so embarrassing. Giacomo’s gaze had softened and even in the darkess of the passage, Friedrich had seen the smile that had tugged at the corners of his mouth. “Thank you, Friedrich.” He had nodded, returning the smile and pointing towards the door that had lead to his room. “You may use it to change and I shall show you to the guest room afterwards. Unless you do not feel comfortable, of course.”

The smile on Friedrich’s face had widened and he had closed his eyes when he had seen the kiss coming, his heart fluttering at his and Giacomo’s lips touching._ Good God._ “I will wait for you in the gallery,” he had whispered, his voice a bit husky, as he had ran his hand down the curve of Giacomo’s back. The younger man had nodded and had smiled at him again before he had turned around and had taken the few steps towards the door, opening it slowly and disappearing behind it. As soon as the door had been closed, Friedrich had exhaled shakingly and had leaned against the wooden chest, his eyes closed. He had been overwhelmed, and albeit it had been in the best possible way, he had known that he would eventually need to start _thinking_ about the events of the evening, especially the night. God, Giacomo had sucked him off. Not that Friedrich had ascribed it to the possibility of Giacomo being a whore - he never, not in his darkest dreams, would have titled him as such, but he had not lived through such a pleasure for an incredibly long time and while he had been more than eager to never be without it again, he had frightened by the prospect of it. What if he would not be able to give Giacomo what he would desire of him? What if he... would not be able to fully put Katte into the background? Giacomo would surely cast him aside if he would find out. Understandably so. He had known that he would not have been able to stay with him if he would find out that Giacomo had still been in love with Louis. Snorting to himself, Friedrich had pushed himself off the piece of furniture. Out of all the people that he could have thought of, he never would have imagined that it would be Louis of France that Giacomo had a history with but it would have been a lie if he would have said that he that he had not been able to imagine just how great of a lover Giacomo must had been for the French. He had been intelligent and a joy to talk with as much as he had been a pleasure to look at and the images that had appeared in Friedrich’s mind as he had opened the door to the gallery had made his blood boil with jealousy that he had failed to suppress. _Giacomo sitting on Louis de France’s lap in the merry round of the king of France’s entourage, throwing his head back to laugh at something that Louis had just whispered into his hear. The frenchman’s fingers combing through Giacomo’s hair as he watched him with glistering, hungry eyes._ Friedrich’s hand had very well clenched around the handle of his cane when he had though about how Louis must have kissed him, how he had surely roamed his hands over him. He certainly had not wanted to contemplate whether Giacomo had breathed and whispered Louis’ name as he had done it with his, and while he had known that it had been uttermost unnecessary and ridiculous for him to give in to the unrightful jealousy, Friedrich had not been able to help himself as he had sauntered through the narrow gallery of his Sanssouci. It had not been the fact that he had not been Giacomo’s first, which, considering their ages, would have been a strange thing, but rather Friedrich’s fear that he might not be able to live up to the standards that Giacomo could have set for a partner of his. He had sighed, a bit annoyed at his own excessive thinking. If he would continue doing it, he would surely only end up scaring Giacomo off - and he had wanted him. Oh, had he wanted him badly.

He never would have dreamed that he would ever desire to have his only childhood friend in bed with him, to kiss him and, most importantly, to love him. Friedrich had been smiling wildely as he had inspected the tip of his cane, waiting for Giacomo to finish undressing and changing into the morning robe. _Giacomo_ had been here, most unexpectedly so, but Friedrich had never been more glad for a coincidence in his life because he had known that they probably never would have been reunited otherwise. _Because you are too much of an idiot_, he had snarled at himself in the privacy of his mind. It had been true, if Giacomo would not have turned up in front of his nose, quite literally so, he would not have gotten him back. He had felt a stab of remorse when he had thought about the many letters that Giacomo had send him and which he had never gotten to read because his father had made sure that he would not get them. Friedrich had shook his head, he truly should have known that Friedrich Wilhelm had been involved in the end of their friendship. He had not wanted to imagine how Giacomo must had felt when he had send letter after letter for_ years_ on end without receiving a single one in return, and he certainly had not wanted to imagine how different, how much less filled with grief and how much happier his life would have turned out if he only would have stayed in contact with him... Upon having reached the far end of the gallery and the door that would lead him to the vestibule, Friedrich had stopped and had tilted his head back to look at the stucco on the ceiling. It had been just like he had wanted it, like he had dreamed it and the only reason as for why he had not believed himself to have died and gone to his own heaven had been the fact that Katte had not been with him. Oh, how Katte would have loved Sanssouci. Friedrich had been disturbed in, or rather rescued from his thoughts when the door on the other end of the gallery had been opened and Giacomo had peaked inside. The frown that had shown on Friedrich’s face had been replaced with a smile as soon as he had spotted the younger man. If his heart had somersaulted when Giacomo had closed the door behind him and had thus revealed that he had, in fact, changed into Friedrich’s robe, he had tried his hardest to ignore it. Giacomo had seemed a bit sheepish when he had approached him - he must have washed his face in the small basin of Friedrich’s room, as it had been cleaned off the powder that he had worn before, and his hair had been bound back into a braid in a way that had surely been meant to protect it during the night and good God, he had been so beautiful. They had smiled at each other and Friedrich had brushed the back of his fingers over Giacomo’s cheek before he had reached for his hand. “It is suiting you very well.” Giacomo had averted his gaze to where his hand had been held and had squeezed Friedrich’s hand in response. The Prussian had clearly seen the creases of tiredness underneath Giacomo’s eyes, and while he must had been exhausted, his smile had not faltered. “Come.” Hand in hand they had walked through the vestibule and the marble hall. Friedrich had shot a curious look at the younger when Giacomo had snorted into the silence. “I certainly cannot get lost here,” Giacomo had said before Friedrich could have asked him about what he had thought so funny. “I do not know if I have told you, but I do tend to get lost.”

Friedrich had chuckled, shaking his head as he had opened the door to the marble hall and had allowed Giacomo to walk in first. Then that the guests had long left, it had appeared a bigger but Giacomo had been right, one could not have gotten lost in it. “No, you can not.” Giacomo had made an approving sound and Friedrich had longed to kiss him, but he had held himself back. How ridiculous it would have been if he would not have managed to spend a few minutes without kissing him! They had taken their time with crossing the marble hall, neither really eager for them to part as is had seemed. “Friedrich?” “Yes?” “When must I leave tomorrow?” Friedrich had slowed down even more until he had eventually came to a stand in the middle of the room, tugging at Giacomo’s arm to silently tell him to do the same. “I do not want,” he had began, but had cut himself off by clearing his throat before he had started anew. “When do you wish to leave tomorrow? I shall arrange a carriage that will bring you to Berlin.” Giacomo had not answered right away, had instead pulled his bottom lip between his teeth and looked at a spot somewhere next to Friedrich’s shoulder as color had risen into his face. _Oh_. Laughing softly, Friedrich had pulled him into his arms. _How adorable he was_. “It is not that I want you to leave, Giacomo.” “I have to.” “Indeed you must.” The younger man had pulled back to look up at Friedrich, smiling sofly, “When _must_ I leave?” While their faces had been close enough for them to kiss, they had not done so, had merely locked their gazes. “I would like to spend the day with you,” Friedrich had said with an undeniable purring sound lacing his voice, leaning in so close that he had almost been speaking against Giacomo’s lips and he had thus felt the sharp intake of breath the younger had made at his words. He had, of course, already feared that he would be misunderstood - even if the prospect had seemed alluring, he had not wanted to spend the day in bed with him. Friedrich had doubted that he would have been able to do it. “Would you like to accompany me to breakfast and a walk afterwards?” Giacomo’s smile had widened, and it had been utterly endearing to see. “I would love to.” “Good.” Whether he had been kissed or had kissed the other Friedrich had not known. Not that it had mattered, anyway, all that had counted in the end had been the fact that their lips had found each other. Neither of them had tried to deepen it, had, however, dragged it out until they had both been out of breath. “I am wondering what your wife will say when I will return tomorrow,” Giacomo had said, giggling when Friedrich had pulled a quick grimace. “Would you refrain from mentioning her? I have no desire to be reminded of the fact that... _that woman_ is indeed my wife.” “I will do so.” “Thank you,” Friedrich had said with a laugh and had kissed his forehead, earning himself an appreciating hum and a yawn. “I believe that it is time for you to retreat to bed.” He had pulled away at the same time that Giacomo had taken a step back as well, and neither had tried to initiate a conversation while they had crossed the rest of the hall, simply savouring the light silence. “Here is the room,” Friedrich had said and had, instead of merely pointing to the door, opened it himself. “Thank you.” He had stood by and had watched how Giacomo had hung his clothes over the back of one decorative chair before he had turned towards him. “Good night, Friedrich.” “Good night, Giacomo.” With his heart in his throat Friedrich had returned the smile and had slowly closed the door behind him, leaving Giacomo to his privacy.

Once he had shown Giacomo to the guest room, Friedrich had went en route for his private chamber after having spend a good half of a minute listening through the door - an utterly embarassing thing, and not only if he would have been caught doing so. If Friedrich ever would have believed in thing such as magic, he surely would have thought himself to have been bewitched by Giacomo as he had truly needed to fight his desire to simply walk back into the room, to kiss him one more time and if he would have had the means to ask as for why he had been feeling so... desperate, he would have needed to admit that he had been scared. Scared that he would wake up the next day to find out that Giacomo had left, or worse: he would wake and all of it had been nothing but a dream. Sure, it had been a most ridiculous fear as it had all been too real to have been derived from his vivid imagination, in which Katte had always been alive and well, but Friedrich had been helplessly exposed to the trauma that had scarred him so greatly. He had felt the tale-telling tension around his heart before he had even reached his room, had _known_ that it would eventually break out of him before the first sob had build in his chest. Then that Giacomo had not been close to him and could have acted as a witness, there had been nothing that could have prevented him from collapsing under the weight of the confusting mixture of grief, happiness and confusion. With Keith long dismissed for the evening, Friedrich had hurried to open the many buttons of his brocade waistcoat and had dumped it as well as his blouse carelessly into a heap on the ground, his hands trembling as he had done so. He had pulled his nightshirt over his head while he had kicked of his shoes, not caring whether or not he had been damaging them. What had it mattered, they could have been replaced within a day if he would have wanted it. Friedrich, already having to use most of his strength in order to not break down onto the floor, had not paid any attention to his dogs before he had crawled into bed, the first sob escaping him before he had managed to press his face into the pillow. He had known that it would have been to no avail if he would have tried to fight against them, and so he had wrapped his arms around the pillow and had released his sobs into it. They had been violent enough to shake his body as they had rippled through him, coming from the very core of him, the part that had been so scarred by his father’s abuse and Katte’s loss. He had been happy, he truly had been. Oh, if someone would have told him just yesterday that he would be reunited with Giacomo again and that he would find so much more than the friendship that he had yearned after. Friedrich had no idea about how long he had laid on his bed with his face firmly hidden in the feathery depths of the pillow, had tried to ignore the many thoughts that had circled on his mind over and over again. Katte and Giacomo, Giacomo and Katte. His only ever childhood friend and the first man he had ever loved. If he had felt guilty for having kissed Giacomo? No, he had not. There had been no one that he had betrayed by doing it, and it would have been a blatant lie if he would have said that he had not enjoyed it.

He had enjoyed the evening he had with Giacomo - and it had probably been said enjoyment that had hit him so, that had caused his carefully set-up construct of pretentious stability to shake and eventually collapse in itself. God yes, he had enjoyed it and he had looked forward to the morning, when he would be able to hold and caress him again. He had forgotten how nice it felt to have someone that looked at him with honest admiration instead of the attention hungry, favour seeking gazes he usually received from the nobles at his court. Another harsh sob had left him and Friedrich had, in an attempt to calm himself, drawn in a few hasted and deep breaths as he had turned onto his side. The position on his stomach had since stopped being comfortable and his desire to pull the covers tightly around him had eventually enabled him to sit up and grab it, his entire body trembling as he had done so. He had sniffled and had tried to muffle his sobs by pressing his lips together. If he would not have been careful, Giacomo might have been able to hear him. Giacomo. Friedrich had let out a sound that could have been a sigh and while it had seemed that he had been slowly calming down, his chin had began to quiver anew as his eyes had fallen upon the paining that had hung on the wall enxt to his bed. _Katte_. “Oh Katte,” he had whispered as if it had been a plea, his vision growing blurry when he had kept his eyes glued onto the framed oil painting. His heart, his _soul_ had been aching to be looked at by the man that had been depicted, and Friedrich’s grief had only trippled when it had not happened. Of course it had not, in the fifteen years that he had stared at the painting, nothing had ever happened. It had not been his Katte. Features forever frozen in paint, a gaze averted to a point that could have been directed at Friedrich if he would have stood directly in front of it, and a nonchalant posture... it had not been his Katte. His beloved Katte had been burried in Wust seventeen years ago, and except for the memories that Friedrich had carried with him, the painting on the wall had been the only evidence of the other man’s presence in his life. He had nothing else. His father had burned the letters, every single one of them. Sure, Friedrich had not tried to hide him when he had set out for the diplomatic journey to southern Germany with his father, but he had still been heartbroken when he had returned, in 1732, and had found every trace of Katte gone. Oh, how he had loved him and in a way, he had never stopped doing so. Some time had passed since he had last sobbed over his loss, for it had been a wound that had since scarred over. He would never forget him, of course he would not, and while Katte would always be his first love, Friedrich had known that he had been ready to love another. Giacomo. For the second time in his life, he had been utterly enamoured at first sight and it must had been a blessing that Giacomo had apparently felt the same. Friedrich had closed his eyes as he pulled the blanked even tighter around him, closing his eyes. His mind had been working too much to allow him to sleep, but his heart had been so heavy, filled with grief and the autumn memories, and he had been so tired that Morpheus had eventually opened his arms for him.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this got _just a tiny bit_ out of hand... :-D
> 
> Not betaed, all mistakes are mine.

**October 1747**

Friedrich did not even try to hide his smile of excitement as he shuffled together the parchments that he had been working on for the past couple of hours into a neat stack in order to put them back into their designated briefcase. Finishing them had taken him longer than he had either expected or wanted, for his mind simply had not been willing to concentrate on the written words in front of him, no matter how hard he had ordered it to. But instead of falling into an angry fit, Friedrich had merely snorted, shaken his head and read over the same passage for the third time. He had not wanted to get angry, and there had been a hefty reason as for why not even the inability to do his work had only grazed his mood - it was the day that Giacomo would join him in Sanssouci. They had not seen each other for a week, days during which Friedrich had spend every available minute of his free time writing page-long letters to or thinking about him. He was in love, and there would not have been any use if he would have tried to tell himself that he was not. His heart had soared with every single letter that he had gotten in return, each just as long and passionate as the one he had send beforehand, and when he had laid in bed, Katte had no longer been the sole presence on his mind. They had shared a perfectly enjoyable forenoon the day after the festive opening of Sanssouci. Friedrich had woken up as early as he had done it for years. Oh, how his chest had tightened as he had stared at the ceiling above his bed and had thought about how Giacomo had been sleeping in one of the guest rooms. He had allowed himself to give into his yearnful thinking before he had eventually stood and notified Keith that he had been ready to be dressed for the day. His first valet, and former close friend, had not commented on the fact that the Venetian ambassador had not but had stayed for the night. Friedrich had beaten him to it, “The Monsieur and I have known each other as children,” he had said, looking at Keith, who had turned around to pull his refreshened wig off its stand, through the mirror. The white curls had bounced when they had been combed one more time by the valet. “We talked and it would have been too late for him to ride back to Berlin.” _We talked_ had been an underestimation if Friedrich had ever told one, but he had no aspirations to tell Keith what had really taken place last night, especially since he had not known what Giacomo’s stand on it had been. While he would not hide their romantic relationship if there should be one, as he had hoped there would, he would need to consider whatever Giacomo’s wish would be. He had never cared about rumors and chatters, especially not if they had came from courtiers, and he had wanted to do nothing more than to be able to cherish Giacomo in public. He may not have admitted it to himself, but the fact that others would be _jealous_ had been one motivation - not the main one, of course, but he could already see the gazes that they would receive if they were to enter the large salon of the palace in Berlin or Potsdam and he had known that, for the first time, would not be directed at him. Rightfully so, as Giacomo could not be described as anything but a walking piece of art.

Once the wig had been secured on top of his head, Friedrich had ordered Keith to ensure that his dogs would be fed and had, after his first valet had dutifully scurried away, moved through the room to pick the necklace up from where he had placed it onto the nightstand before he had broken down into tears last night. The gold had the same cold and smooth feeling to it as it always had, its chain so delicate that it could have slipped through Friedrich’s fingers if he would not have been careful. A smile had ghosted over his face as he had kept his eyes on it while walking back over towards the tall mirror he had stood in front of while getting dressed, the smile not dimming down as he had brought his hands up to close the golden chain around his neck. Then that he had Giacomo back in his life, it had felt even more wrong to not wear it. He had wondered whether Giacomo had kept the necklace that he had gifted to him, the one with the pear-shaped blue diamond. It surely would have been nice and the possibility of Giacomo wearing it had been heart-warming, but Friedrich had believed that it would be better if he would not raise his hopes onto too high of a level. Considering that the other had believed that he had been casted aside in the most worthtless kind of way, it would have been of no surprise if he had thrown it out or selled it for scraps. He had toyed with the pendant and felt its engraved letters, _STA_, for a few more moments before he had hidden it, together with the chain, underneath his shirt. Despite the entire process of getting dressed, powdered and his wig done, it yet had to reach half past seven and as he had been unsure whether Giacomo had been the one to sleep in, Friedrich had not wanted to accidentally wake him by appearing at his door too early. The first thing he thus had done had been to see if any urgent inquiries had been delivered by a messenger during the night, but when he had found the mail box empty, Friedrich had decided to go for some fresh air instead. The realization that his Sanssouci had finally became reality had been enough to make his heart somersault - it, in a way, had still been unreal. He had yearned for a place like this for decades, and on the day of its opening it had not only been it that he had gotten. Friedrich had chuckled to himself as he had stepped out onto the terrace through the door of the marble hall, the first breath of mild air gently hitting against him. Autumn had arrived with all its glory, and Friedrich had hoped that the weather would stay warm and dry when he would show Giacomo around the garden. He had strolled up and down the terrace for a few times, how often he had not bothered to keep a track on, and if he had caught himself peeking at the curtains of the guest room that he had shown Giacomo to every time that he had passed by it, it had been solely by accident and every single time that he had caught himself, heat had shot into his face. He truly had forgotten how intense a crush had been, he had, unwittingly so, drawn parallels to the way that he had been behaving around Katte when he had first noticed that his feelings for the older lieutenant had reached beyound those of a simple, nonromantic friendship. Though with Giacomo, it had happened quicker. After twenty-five years apart, all it had required had been the first sight.

Friedrich had not known for how long he had strolled around without an aim, and when he had finally perceived the sound of someone walking over the marble floor, he had tightened the hold he had on the handle of his cane in order to keep his rising nervousness under control as he had turned around. “Good morning, Giacomo.” The first thing that he had seen upon having turned around had been the smile that had lit up the younger man’s features and all that he had been able to think about had been fact that Giacomo had been utterly, breathtakingly beautiful. “Good morning.” Giacomo had seemed a bit sheepish when Friedrich had reached out and had taken his right hand, intertwining their fingers and using the hold to pull him a bit closer to him. It had still been adorable to see how shy Giacomo had seemed in his presence and his chest had clenched at the fact that it had been him who had done so, _him_ and not one of the courtiers that had spend the evening circling him like a starving animal. Oh, Friedrich had been able to read their gazes just well enough and he thus had known that he had been far from the only one that had laid an interested eye upon him. Apart from the way that _his mother_ and her entourage had nearly swooned at the sight of Giacomo’s backside from a distance, Friedrich had suspected that it must happen quite often that he would get much more serious, and especially persistent declarations of attraction and attempts of persuasion. He had caught a sight of the pink hue that had been rising into Giacomo’s cheeks before his eyes had closed on their own accord as he had leaned in to kiss him. His lips had moved slow, and Giacomo’s had joined him, neither eager to deepen it any further. Friedrich had smiled into the kiss when he had felt the younger man’s free arm wrapping itself around his middle. Yes, he could get used to it. “Did you sleep well?” Giacomo had hummed in agreement, keeping his arm where he had put it around Friedrich’s waist even after the other had pulled away again. “I did, the bed was very comfortable.” “I am glad to heart that,” Friedrich had said with a chuckle and since he had been unable to resist the temptation of getting to feel his lips again, he had captured them in yet another kiss. _He had already fallen in love him, head over heals_. As if it had been planned down to the second they had broken apart a mere second before the door, which connected the marble hall and the vestibule, had been opened and a flock of servants had moved in. Friedrich had swallowed when Giacomo had nearly jumped back to put space between them and had strode a bit further down the terrace, indubitably to get out of the sight of the servants. He had watched said servants for a few moments, had followed how they had carried in a table and had began to set it up - breakfast, he had almost forgotten about it. The sound of glass, porcelain and cutlery clinking against each other had reached them out on the terrace, and Friedrich had shot one last look at the workers before he had moved into Giacomo’s direction. He had worried that the younger man might have already changed his mind, that he had no longer wanted to try, though the grin that had stood on Giacomo’s face had been enough to wipe his fear out. The grin had an almost boyish touch it, and Friedrich had allowed himself to grin in return. “What?” “What?” “What do you believe to be so funny?” “Nothing, nothing,” Giacomo had said, albeit not very convincing.

“Nothing?” Friedrich had cocked a playful eyebrow as Giacomo had pressed his lips together to keep himself from grinning. “The why are you hiding from my servants?” The younger man had sobered quite a bit at Friedrich’s question and it had seemed, for the split of a second, as if he had wanted to turn around and put distance between the once again. “What if they saw,” Giacomo had said with a low voice, not yet a whisper but quiet enough that Friedrich could have missed it if he would not have his entire attention fixed on him. Friedrich’s heart had soared, and he had taken another step into Giacomo’s space before he had spoken. “Would it... bother you if they saw us?” If he would not have been so overwhelmed with the nervousness and love that had swept over him like a tidal wave, he would have read the forming crease between Giacomo’s eyebrows as confusion. “I was thinking of you, Friedrich.” “Of me?” The question had escaped him before he had really thought about it; the younger man’s face had turned into a brighter shade of pink and Giacomo had stalled for a moment or two prior to opening his mouth, but he had needed to close and open it anew until he managed to speak. “You are the king of Prussia, and if you were to be seen with me...” “I was asking about you, Giacomo,” Friedrich had answered, reaching out to brush a strand of hair behind Giacomo’s ears and his voice had dropped lower when he had spoken on. “I would be more than alright to let them see.” He had smiled at the soft gasp that came from the other. “But I am -” “_Do not_ say that you are just a marquis,” Friedrich hat cut him off, “it does not matter.” “Oh.” _Oh?_ _Giacomo surely had not thought..._ “Come here.” Giacomo had accepted the offered embrace in an instant, and when the younger man had nestled against his chest, Friedrich had dared to kiss the top of his head. “It is not my intention to keep this hidden away,” he had whispered into the blond softness, “to keep you in hiding, but I do understand and will respect it if you wish it.” Giacomo had muttered something that he had not understood, and had complied to his request when he had asked him to repeat what he had said. “I just... I would have understood if you...” Friedrich had chuckled, shaking his head as he looked down at Giacomo. “I am very happy that you are here for now, so why would I want to pretend that I am not?” Giacomo had sighed as if he had been relieved to hear it, and the smile on Friedrich’s face had widened, his heart somersaulting, when he had felt the other’s arms closing a bit tighter around him. “Shall we attend to breakfast now? I am quite hungry.” “So am I.” They had both laughed as they had let go of each other, and when Friedrich had blindly reached out to take Giacomo’s hand into his as they had walked towards the opened door of the marble hall, the younger had not pulled his away. It had been most ridiculous to Friedrich, but his heart had somersaulted when he had seen that the table had been set for two - even though he had ordered it. He had only let go of Giacomo’s hand as they had came to stand in front of said table, and he had ran the fingers of his free hand over the curve of Giacomo’s back, hoping that the gesture had been subtile enough. “You may sit down.” “Thank you.” Friedrich had sat down at one, Giacomo at the other end of the table.

Their glasses had been filled with wine and one last étagère, stacked with a selection of baked treats, had been placed on the table before the servants had bowed and left the room. Friedrich had taken the first sip of the wine, had leaned back into the chair into a more legere position and had allowed himself to smile in contentment as he had picked a few cherries out of the bow in front of him. He had halved one of the fruits to get the pit out before he had plopped it into his mouth, savouring the sweet taste of the cherry. Giacomo, who had been in the process of cutting a baked treat into smaller pieces, had looked up as if he had senses that Friedrich had been looking at him with nothing but adoration in his gaze, and when Giacomo had smiled at him in an equal manner, Friedrich had been ready to burst into tears again. While he had since realized that it had indeed been real, that he had him back and that they had been granted a second chance, Friedrich’s construct of feelings had been anything but stable. Maybe it had been due to the years, the decades that he had spend with nobody but himself as his closest company that he had been so touched by something so simple like a shared breakfast - because he never had it before. They had not spoken much. There had not been a reason as for why there should have been many words between them, especially Friedrich had been able to enjoy Giacomo’s presence in the comfortable and light silence. “Thank you,” Giacomo had said out of the sudden and before he had bitten down on a cherry, and Friedrich had tried his hardest to not think about how Giacomo’s lips had closed around the fruit as he had sucked out the juice. The sight of it had still made him blush. “You do not have to thank me.” He had cleared his throat, failing not to stare at the way that Giacomo’s tongue had darted out to catch a droplet of juicy that he had missed before and Friedrich had felt heat slowly rising into his face when his trousers had suddenly seemed uncomfortably tight. Giacomo had held the napkin to his mouth as he had thrown his head back to laugh, thus pulling Friedrich out of his lustful thoughts. “You never changed, did you.” Giacomo’s words had caused him to halt for a moment. _Never changed?_ “You still like to order me around, do you not?”, the younger man had went on before Friedrich could have asked him if he had truly believed that he had not changed, as for Friedrich, it had been anything but credible - _had Katte’s death not changed him? Had his father abuse, that had only gotten worse after the doge of Venice and his son had left, not changed who he was?_ He had managed a chuckle, “Someone has to keep you in check and protect you at the same time.” “Excuse me?” When Giacomo had raised an eyebrow and had looked at him with pretentious outrage, the laugh that had left Friedrich had been a honest one. “Back then you were scared of horses and my father’s guards, and now you are scared of my dogs. So,” Friedrich had taken a teasingly slow sip from his wine, “it is not too groundless for me to believe that you are in need of... a guardian of sorts.” “Friedrich!” Their laughters had resounded through the room and hit Friedrich, figuratively speaking, right in his heart. He had never expected that Sanssouci would ever be filled with so much of it. “I _do not_ require a guardian.”

“May I ask you something?” Giacomo had tilted his head, a soft smile playing around his lips. “Of course you may.” Friedrich had nodded in acknowledgement and had spend a handful of seconds looking down into his glass before he had went on. “You did not change your mind, did you?” If he would have looked at Giacomo instead, he would have seen how the younger man’s smile had gained an even softer hue. “No, I did not. And I do not think that I will have done so by tomorrow, Friedrich.” _Good God_. His heart had somersaulted and while he would have liked to say something, his mind had been momentarily unable to come up with a sense-making string of words. So he had only nodded again as he had set his glass down onto the table and had picked up yet another cherry, has favorite fruit. “Did you?” “No!” He had cleared his throat after his voice had came out louder than he had wanted it to, “No,” he had repeated, “I did anything but that. I promise, Giacomo.” “I am glad.” Their gazes had found each other and they had both smiled, mostly from the relief that they had not misunderstood the other and Friedrich, on his part, to prevent his tempestuousness from slipping past his mask. He would only think about just how great the mask had worked to hide whatever he had not wanted to be noticed much later. They had continued eating in silence and without any real hurry; Friedrich had made sure that he had not set his own cutlery down before Giacomo had taken his last bite, thus signaling that the meal had been over. “Wait here,” he had said as he had stood from his chair and Giacomo, with a smile on his face, had nodded as he had stood himself to allow the servants, which had only waited for Friedrich’s signal, to clear the table. He had found Keith in one of the servant’s rooms and had, within a short few seconds, given out the order for a carriage to be ready at his command before he had hurried to get back to where Giacomo had been waiting for him in the marble hall. “That was rather fast,” the younger man had greeted him as he had closed the door behind him, and Friedrich had, to prove that what he had told him on the terrace had been true, cupped his face and had pulled him into a quick kiss. He had swallowed the gasp of surprise that had escaped Giacomo, and when he had cracked one eye open, he had seen that the servants, as well as Keith, who had followed him, had been staring at him, as they had most definitely been certain that he had not noticed them doing so. _Pathetic_. Giacomo’s face had been flushed into a darker shade of pink when Friedrich had pulled away, and he had watched how the younger man’s eyes had darted back and forth between the servants, who had scampered to return to their work as if nothing had happened, Keith and Friedrich. Friedrich had needed to bite down on the insides of his cheeks to keep himself from grinning, it had been just too endearing of a sight to see him all flustered and embarrassed, and instead of waiting for him to say something, he had taken Giacomo’s hand and had lead him outside. While he had been euphoric about their kiss and the reaction it had earned him, he had began to somewhat regret it when Giacomo had stayed unusually silent. Upon having reached the stairs that would bring them down into the garden, Friedrich had stopped and had turned around to face him. “I apologize, it was not my intention to embarrass you.” Giacomo’s face yet had to return to its normal complexion but other than Friedrich had expected it, there had not been any anger in his gaze.

“You did not embarrass me,” the Italian had answered, a smile moving over his face. “It simply was not something that I had expected.” If Friedrich had sighed audibly, Giacomo had not commented on it. “Well, I did tell you that I have no intention of hiding my favour for you,” he had said as he squeezed Giacomo’s hand. “They can see.” The younger man had nodded, a gesture that had been simple and yet so meaningful and when Friedrich had taken another small step closer to him, it had been Giacomo who had closed the gap between them. Without being able to stop it, Friedrich had gasped when their lips had connected and the heat that had shot through his body had been forcefully enough to make him tremble on his feet - barely noticably so, but it had not changed the fact that he had realized that he had already been lost to the other. “You really do not mind them,” Giacomo had whispered once they had broken apart, tracing one of Friedrich’s cheeks with gentle fingers as his eyes had moved to lock with Friedrich’s where they had looked at his lips before. “I told you that I do not.” They had both laughed, and when Friedrich had cocked his head into the direction of the stairs in a silent question and Giacomo had nodded, they had set into motion again. They had not even reached the bottom of the stair when Giacomo had already linked his arm with Friedrich’s and while it had not seemed as if it had been an unusual gesture for the blond, it had caused Friedrich’s heart to somersault. There had been no doubt that he had fallen in love with him, utterly and without an easy way out, but he had lacked the courage to actually voice it out - maybe Giacomo would be weirded out by his confession. “It is a beautiful place,” the younger man had said as they had walked past the main fountain, further into the garden, and Friedrich had turned his head to look at him. “It is, and it will be more beautiful during the months of spring.” Giacomo had met his gaze, the brown in his eyes so very warm again, “I can imagine.” Unable to resist the temptation, Friedrich had leaned over to haste a warm kiss onto Giacomo’s cheek. It had been strange, the fact that he had spend almost two entire decades without such closeness and yet had no problem to fully emerge himself into it. They had taken their sweet time to saunted through the garden, and Giacomo had listened as Friedrich had talked about which statues he had comissioned and what plans he had for the remaining space in the garden as well as in the park. Giacomo had listened, and every time that Friedrich had looked at him he had been met with kind eyes and a soft smiles. Oh, how good it had felt to have someone at his side again. The morning had slowly passed by and when Sanssouci had came back into sight, it had already been illuminated by the light of the high-standing sun. They must spend two, if not more than two hours meandering around and Giacomo had not complained about it once, had only sighed as he had looked up at the small palace. “What is it?”, Friedrich had asked, squeezing his hand. “Have I bored you?” “No, you did not.” He had frowned when something in Giacomo’s voice had changed, but before he could have commented on it, Giacomo had spoken again. “I... merely would prefer staying over leaving. It is stupid, I know, but I...” “You can come back.” “What?” “You can come back,” Friedrich had repeated. “There is no reason as for why you must stay in Berlin.”

Giacomo’s eyes had widened for a split second and he had moved to stand in front of Friedrich, who had smiled at him in reassurance. That his heart had been in his throat, the Prussian had tried to hide. “I must not?” He had shaken his head, just once, and had brought a hand up to cup it against Giacomo’s cheek. “No.” “My work...” Giacomo had leaned his head into the touch, his eyes never straying away from Friedrich’s. “You can stay here if you wish it,” Friedrich had spoken with a low voice, his thumb stroking the freckled skin over Giacomo’s cheekbones. “With me.” A few seconds of silence had passed. “What do you say?” It may not have been visibly, but Friedrich had been trembling on the inside, nervous to hear the answer that he had been desperate for. The possibility of Giacomo turning his offer down had been frightening - Berlin may not have been as far away as Venice, but he had been uncomfortable with the prospect of Giacomo continuing to stay at Elisabeth Christine’s court. “I would like that very much,” the younger man had eventually answered, smiling at him before he had turned his head and had kissed Friedrich’s palm. _Oh!_ His heart had somersaulted for what had to be the dozenth time and as he had lunged forward to pull him into an embrace, Giacomo had giggled. By God, it had been like music to his ears. “Your carriage to Berlin has been arranged,” he had spoken into the blond’s hair, “you do not have to worry about a thing.” Giacomo had hummed and had nestled his face against the side of Friedrich’s neck while closing his arms around middle, “It will take me a few days.” “Of course, yes.” “This is...” “What?” Friedrich had felt something tightening in his chest when Giacomo had pulled away to look at him. “I still cannot believe that we are...” He had laughed, albeit it had sounded more teary than he had wanted it to, “Me neither, I promise you that.” “I missed you, Friedrich,” Giacomo had whispered and while there had not been any tears in his eyes, the glistering had told of how close he had been to giving in to them. “All those years...” _Do not_. Friedrich had not answered, had merely drawn him into another embrace, partly to hide the way that he had squeezed his eyes shut, _do not_. It had not only been Giacomo that had, apparently, been ready to give in to his tears. He had not wanted to think about the years that had hung over their heads like the sword of Damocles, had not wanted to imagine how different it could have turned out if he only would have made better decisions in his past and certainly had not wanted to think about the possibilities that they had lost. Twenty-five years had needed to pass before they had found each other again and in a constellation that Friedrich had never dreamed of. In the end, their walk had ended without any shed tear. Upon having reached Sanssouci and notifying Keith, the carriage had been ready as fast as Friedrich had ordered for it to be, and he had prolonged Giacomo’s stay by inviting him for a glass of wine and a small meal. The younger man had agreed, though when it had been time for him to set out for his return to Berlin, Friedrich had kissed him goodbye before he had taken one of Giacomo’s wrists, had turned his palm up and had placed a handkerchief into it. He had no doubt that Giacomo had known its meaning - that the one who had been gifted with it must return it.

A week had since passed; Friedrich was uttermost excited to have Giacomo at his side again and the fact that the younger man seemed to be just as excited to join him was enough to keep his spirits at an all-time high. With the briefcase stashed back into its place in the drawer of the writing desk, Friedrich stood from the chair that he had been sitting in since the early morning hours, groaning as he stretched his aching back. It would not have been necessary for him to finish them all in one go, but it had been his desire to be able to spend as much time as possible with Giacomo and he thus had not hesitated to wake up early in order to get them done. He chuckled to himself as he slowly pushed the chair against the table, if Giacomo would have known that he had been the reason as for why Friedrich had been unable concentrate on his work he surely would have laughed in the endearing way that he always did it and would have exclaimed that he had not done it on purpose. With all the anticipation and delight that Friedrich looked forward to Giacomo staying with him here, in Sanssouci, it would have been a lie if he would have said that he was not equally nervous and anxious as in Friedrich’s eyes, the situation had unfolded too perfectly. He was not used to things working out the way that he had wanted them to, had never been lucky enough to keep the one he loved at his side for long... Shaking his head, Friedrich tried to silence the thoughts on his mind. Ever since he had broken down, it seemed as if the scars on his heart and sould were more exposed than they ususally were. They had ached every time that he had sealed a letter which would be send to Berlin, every time that he had found himself lying in bed alone. It had not been the same ache that Katte had triggered, an ache of grief and lost love, but rather an ache fuelled by the fear of imminent heartbreak. Friedrich was scared of losing him and considering that he had only just found him again, he had told himself that it was not too much of a groundless fear - especially if Giacomo would find out about his scars, the physical as well as the mental ones. _“You never changed, did you.”_ While he knew that what Giacomo had said had not been a lie, he was unable to wrap his head around the fact that Giacomo truly believed it. Would he scare him away if his mask would accidentally slip and reveal how greatly he had changed, in a few parts at least. Oh, the constant repetition of the worry-filled had since grown tiring and Friedrich had high hopes that they would retreat into the back of his mind as soon as Giacomo would be back at his side. The carriage that Friedrich had send in order to retrieve him from Schönhausen was due to arrive in Potsdam in the early afternoon hours, or so he was certain, thus leaving him with enough time to attend to lunch as well as a short stroll in the garden, accompanied by his dogs and his second valet. He was less restricted in Sanssouci, no longer bound by the rules and regulations of court protocol but he could not loose all the ties that had came with his titles, which made it impossible for him to move by himself. Friedrich took his time in the garden and eventually sat down on one of the benches near the Neptune Grotto to play with Biche and the ball that the dog always carried around with it.

The sun did not need to battle more than a few clouds, the day’s breeze was not yet strong enough to make him shiver with the harbinger of the nearing late autumn and the way that his dogs were eager to play with him made it easy for Friedrich to stop breaking his mind for a short while. He did not speak a word with the valet, who had taken it onto him to accompany him, and when he suddenly heard the sound of someone fastly moving over the gravel stones, he was on his feet within a second. “What happened,” he snapped before the pair of guards had even came to a halt, and he tightened his hold on the handle of his cane as the guards bower their heads prior to speaking. “A carriage arrived, Your Majesty. From Berlin.” “What?”, Friedrich face fell for just the split of a second, “When?” “Right before we came looking for Your Majesty,” one of the guards answered with another dutiful nod of his head. “Monsieur Casanova stated that Your Majesty is awaiting him.” _God yes he was awaiting him_. Nodding in acknowledgement, Friedrich whistled his playing dogs back to his side and hurried back to the palace, the guards as well as the valet following him. _Giacomo_. Even after having checked his pocket watch, he still did not know as for why Giacomo had already arrived, as he was not due for another two hours, and if it would not have been Giacomo he probably would have made a comment about how much he detested unpunctuality. Right then he could not have been more thankful for the apparent misunderstanding. His physical form was in no way a bad one, except when it came to his knee, maybe, but he was out of breath as he reached the peak of the hill on which Sanssouci stood in all its glory. There was no carriage in sight, which told him that either the guards had taken a long time to find him or that it was him who took to long, though Friedrich guessed that it was not the latter. His dogs, already well familiar with the new home, hasted past him and into the marble hall and Friedrich knew that his heart was not only racing because he had practically ran up the hill. He made a half hearted attempt to whistle his dogs back as he, too, entered the hall - and his breath catched in his throat when his eyes fell upon Giacomo. The fact that the younger man was inspecting Venus sculpture that had since been placed in one of the niches only told him that he had indeed left him waiting for longer than he had wanted to, and Giacomo spotted him before he could have said anything. God, he was beautiful. Dressed in a light blue and unmistakably _very_ expensive brocade attire, with his hair neatly tied back into a ponytail and his lips colored with just a dab of red he looked even better than the last time that Friedrich had seen him, though it could have been due to the feelings for the younger man that had since established themselves. They may not have ran to get into each other’s arm, as they were not lovestruck youths, but he heard Giacomo gasp as he pulled him into a bone-crushing embrace. It did not last long, however. Giacomo pulled back from Friedrich’s arms after a few seconds, though only to cup his face and pull him down into a kiss in return. The sound of his cane carelessly falling onto the ground went by unnoticed by either of them, and with both of his hands then free Friedrich moved them up the curve of Giacomo’s back, causing the younger to arch against him.

“I was not expecting you for another two hours,” Friedrich gasped as their lips parted and Giacomo wrapped his arms arms around his neck in order to keep him close. Not that he wanted to pull away, anyway. “I apologize for letting you wait.” The younger man hummed and dragged his bottom lip through his teeth before he answered, “And I was beginning to think that you had second thoughts... about us.” It was meant as a joke, Friedrich was able to tell so by the grin that illuminated Giacomo’s face, but they yet caused his worry to skyrocket. He used the hold he had to tilt Giacomo’s face back to deepen their eye contact and opened his mouth to speak, though was silenced by Giacomo’s finger on his lips before he had even found the right words to say. “I know that you would not do so, Friedrich.” His eyes grew wider and the sheer love that collected in his chest threatened to break it open. _Good God, he loved him_. “I missed you,” Friedrich whispered once the finger had disappeared, and Giacomo once more hummed in agreement. “I missed you too, I do not believe that a week has ever felt so long.” They smiled at each other and both leaned in at the same time, their lips meeting and when Friedrich took the initiative to shyly ask for entrance with his tongue by licking across Giacomo’s lip, it was instantly granted. It was not as if he did not _know_ how, he simply had not done it for too long. His heart was not only racing due to the fact that he had him back - finally so, but also because he was hit with the realization that Giacomo had not changed his mind about them not keeping their affection hidden behind closed doors. They loosened their arms from around each other, mostly to give the other space to catch his breath, and Giacomo’s cheeks were tainted beyond the shade of blush when Friedrich reached out to take his hand. “How were your last days at her court?” While they had send each other letters daily, Friedrich had deliberatedly refrained mention Elisabeth Christine. He had no doubts that rumors about them had already been spread out by the courtiers, which was, partly at least, what he wanted, but he knew that he had made the mistake of not thinking about what it could mean for the Italian living at his wife’s court. “Surprisingly pleasant.” “Oh? Is that so?” Giacomo nodded, “Even though your wife seemed to be quite... eager for my company.” “What?” Friedrich’s brows narrowed as he moved to stand in front of Giacomo. “What did she do,” he said, his voice having dropped to a cold tone that Giacomo yet had to hear a second time. _If she had dared to..._ “She did not do anything worth mentioning,” Giacomo squeezed his hand, “do not worry.” Friedrich clenched and unclenched his jaw as he tried to keep his rising anger about that woman under control and he knew that Giacomo could see how much he was struggling. The younger man grinned widely, “Friedrich?” Most of the tension eventually left his body again as he sighed. “Yes?” “One may believe that you are possessive of me.” “Would it be a bad thing?” “I would not mind it.” The wave that had moved through Friedrich’s body was a hot one, and when it ebbed down, it caused said heat to collect in the pit of his stomach. There was no mistaking that Giacomo wanted him as badly as he wanted Giacomo, and he chuckled as he drew him against his chest. “What did she do, hm?”, he purred into the air next to Giacomo’s ear, smirking when he heard the younger laugh. “Did she try to seduce you?”

Giacomo cocked an eyebrow as he met his gaze. “Did she _what?_” “Try to seduce you,” Friedrich repeated. “Did she try?” He mirrored Giacomo’s gesture by cocking an eyebrow himself when the man in his arms smirked and tilted his head. “Giacomo -” “What if she tried to?” Friedrich swallowed hard and his hands tightened their hold where they had since came to rest on Giacomo’s waist; his mind was already putting together scenarious out of which each and every single one send stabs into his chest - he knew her, knew that Elisabeth Christine would not shy away from trying to ruin his newly-found happiness. Considering that she had tried to seduce _his father_ out of all men, her trying to seduce Giacomo was nothing that Friedrich could not believe. “Giacomo,” he tried again, though his voice quavered so greatly that it caused it to eventually break off and the other must have noticed that Friedrich did not see it as a joke, as Giacomo lost his grin and instead reached up to take his face into his hand. “She invited me to her gaming table but I declined. I reckon that she only did so because she heard about... us.” Friedrich swallowed, “I believe so, too,” and closed his eyes, his breath hitching, when Giacomo raised a bit onto the tips of his toes to kiss him. “I turned down every invitation,” was whispered against his lips and he answered by melting further into the kiss. He had never doubted Giacomo’s loyalty, even if they had not happened to yet have discussed under what terms they stood. It was not Giacomo’s behaviour that he was worried about. They stood in the marble hall for a bit longer, a few servants moving past them and Friedrich’s dogs playing at their feet, until Friedrich suggested from them to retreat to his room - the Italian agreed without a second of hesitation. Friedrich watched how Giacomo took in the interior of his room as if it was the first time he saw it, his heart clenching and a smile inevitably growing on his face. _He loved him_. “Do you still like it?” “Oh, I love it,” Giacomo laughed as he opened the lowest button of his waitscoat to be able to sit down comfortably and while Friedrich was aware that it was weird of him to watch him, he could not have helped himself. Giacomo’s fingers worked fast and with an elegance which he knew was not intended, and he joined him at the small table once he had manage to snap back into the there and then. “I am glad that you do.” Their glasses were filled by a servant that was dismissed by Friedrich afterwards, and Giacomo and him had smiled at each other as they raised their glasses in a silent toast. “_Oh come è bello,_” the younger sighed as he leaned further into the chair, the smile that he threw at Friedrich an uttermost blinding one and it did not falter when Friedrich laughed. “For all that I know you could have just insulted me.” “What?” Giacomo gasped pretentiously while Friedrich still chuckled, “Who would I be to insult Your Majesty? _Non lo farei mai con l'uomo che amo_.” “I might need to get the martinet if you keep this childish behaviour up, Giacomo.” He said it with an equally pretentious authoritan voice, and he was taken aback when Giacomo’s face turned red from one moment to another. He tried to row back, “I...”, but Giacomo cleared his throat before he took a large gulp from the wine and so Friedrich decided to let it go. Whether it was a minute that passed in silence or five he did not know, though his worry of having said something wrong dissolved when Giacomo reached out to lay a hand on top of his.

“I apologize if I...” “It is quite alright, I just...” Giacomo’s cheek gained another flush of color, “Since my father only resorted to...” “Punish,” Friedrich helped him out, earning him another squeeze of his hand. “Since he only did it once I was not averted to... try certain things with Louis.” That he was looking at him with wide eyes Friedrich knew, but he, once again, simply could not have helped himself. What he had said had been meant as a joke only, he had not wanted to push Giacomo into a situation where he felt the need to explain himself. “You do not have to tell me,” he thus hurried to answer, turning his hand so that Giacomo’s was then lying in his palm. “Do not feel forced to.” The fact that the younger man merely nodded told him that he did the right thing. “You can ask me too, if there is something that you want to know about my past.” Giacomo swallowed and he did not quite met Friedrich’s gaze as he first worried his bottom lip between his teeth before he eventually answered. “I told you about Louis and you promised that you would tell me about those that you have been with.” While he had not forgotten about the promise that he had made at the evening of the opening, he had hoped that Giacomo had. Friedrich never would have lied and said that he could not remember ever having made such promise, of course would not. “I... was only ever close with one man.” “Oh?” The other sounded honestly surprised, and Friedrich could not have blamed him. He nodded, “I met him in the summer of 1729. His name was Hans Hermann von Katte, if you remember him.” “I do,” Giacomo said with a smile, “you wrote me a lot about him.” Friedrich did not really know why he did it, but he let go of Giacomo’s hand to stand up from his chair and walk over to Katte’s portrait, which still hung all so perfectly on the wall. He could feel the younger man’s eyes on him as he moved, and he rested one hand flat against the gilded frame when he turned back towards him. “When I... got the brainless idea that a fleeing from my father’s court would make it possible for me to live the life I always wanted,” he swallowed, partly due to the memories that were fighting to rise back up, and also due to the way that Giacomo’s wide and vulnerable eyes were glued onto him, “it was Katte who tried to hinder me from working a plan out. He said that... I would not succeed, no matter how great I would plan it, and that he was,” he swallowed again, harder that time, “scared of losing me if it should fail. But young and stupid as I was, I did not stop planning my escape and he was so in love with me that he eventually caved in and joined me.” “You loved him a lot.” Friedrich, whose gaze had somehow wandered back to the painting, was surprised when he saw that Giacomo had raised as well and had came to stand a few meters away from him, his hands held behind his back. “I did.” His voice broke as he whispered and to his horror, his eyes began to burn. _Not in front of him!_ “He was the only one at my father’s court that... did not seem to hate me for who I am.” “Friedrich...” “You know how my attempt turned out,” he went on, his voice not only on the verge, but breaking more and more. “They caught us all and brought me to Küstrin.” Giacomo took a few, almost hesitate stepd into his direction and he spoke one, knowing that he would fail to bring the words out if he would not hurry.

“I begged my father to spare Katte’s life, I must have told him a hundred times that it way my plan, not Katte’s, but he...” “Did he know that you and Katte were in love?” “He knew. I am certain that it is the main reason as for why he had Katte sentenced to death and not just imprisoned.” “Oh Friedrich...” He closed his eyes and turned away. The tremble had since conquered the rest of his body and as much as he was trying to hide it, he knew that he could not do so. “He made me watch.” “What?” “My father, he made me watch the... beheading.” Giacomo did not answer and Friedrich’s heart was racing, robbing him of his breath and heedlessy driving tears into his eyes. He was desperate for Giacomo to say something, _anything_ that would show him that he had not pushed him away, as exposing his hurt around Katte had never been something that he had wanted to do to such an extend. It surely would have been satisfying enough if he would have came up with a white lie as for why he had lost Katte... though lying to Giacomo would have done nothing than make it more complicated, not to mention that the chances of losing him through such a lie would be sky-high - and losing _him_ as well was something that Friedrich was utterly terrified of. He loved him, and in that moment, his heart was breaking from the strain that the mixed emotions put onto it. While he failed to keep his tears at bay, he was relieved that he at least managed to suppress the sob that had build up in his chest. “Friedrich.” He closed his eyes, another twin set of tears claiming their way down his face as he turned back around, and if he would not have already stood against the wall, he would have taken a step backwards when he saw how close Giacomo had came. The younger man was fully in his space, so close that he could have touched him if he would have wanted to and somehow, it made it even worse for Friedrich and his fragile composure. He opened his mouth to speak, to explain that it was long in the past and to apologize for acting like such a burden, but before he could have brought a single word out, Giacomo closed the gap between them and pulled him into an embrace. Friedrich froze, going rigid, though melted with a shuddered gasp when he felt those gentle fingers in his neck, urging him to lower his head onto Giacomo’s shoulders. He accepted the offered gesture of comfort and closed his arms around him as he turned his face into the crook of his neck, another gasp escaping him when he noticed that Giacomo’s fingers were running soft circles in the back of his neck while he kept his other arm firmly wrapped around him as if to keep him safe, as if he wanted to hinder him from pulling away. _As if he would have done so_. “I am sorry, I did not know that it is so hard for you.” “Do not apologize,” Friedrich whispered against the skin of Giacomo’s neck. “I promised that I would tell you.” Giacomo hummed, a gentle sound that was enough to push another swell of tears into his eyes. _He loved him._ His breath yet needed to stop coming in huffs and until his hands no longer trembled where they held onto the back of Giacomo’s brocade jacket. “I am sorry,” he whispered, “I did not mean to -” Friedrich fell silent as Giacomo pressed a kiss into his hair. “I understand, do not worry.”

“I love you.” He had carried those words around him ever since Giacomo had straddled his lap, and there was no way in which he could have kept them to himself for a moment longer. It was the truth. He loved him, and he repeated his whispered confession once more. “I love you, Giacomo.” “I love you too.” Oh. Friedrich squeezed his eyes shut and tightened his arms around the younger man but if it happened to be a bit too tight, Giacomo did not complain. “You do?” “I do, Friedrich. How could I not?” He straightened just enough to be able to look at him. “I... Look at you,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper as he brought his hands up cup Giacomo’s face. “Look at you, you could be at anyone’s side...” “I could, but I do not want to.” Friedrich shook his head in disbelief, “I am...” “I love you because you are _you_.” He shook his head yet again, stroking the soft skin of Giacomo’s cheeks. “You are too good to me.” “Friedrich?” “Yes?” “I really do love you.” Instead of answering verbally Friedrich lowered his head and kissed him. Giacomo gasped, their kiss loaded with even more emotion that it had been before. It did not take long until they deepened it and with his confession out, it seemed as if a barrier had been removed. Friedrich no longer hesitated to let his hands roam more boldy over Giacomo’s body, feeling the firm flesh and alluring curves and while his cheeks were still damp from the tears that he had shed, the heat that collected in his chest was one fuelled by desire. He did not perceived how, but he managed to move them through the room until the back of Giacomo’s legs came in touch with the edge of Friedrich’s bed. They broke apart, both out of breath, and if Friedrich would not have held him by the waist, Giacomo would have toppled over and onto the bed. He helped him back into onto steady feet, and as soon as Giacomo was no longer in danger of falling his lips were on Friedrich’s again. The younger man gasped when his Friedrich rested his hand on his backside and squeezed, hard and wanting, causing him to arch against the other - and the strains in both of their trousers to rub against each other, to which Friedrich answered by parting Giacomo’s legs with his thigh. “I love you,” he breathed against Giacomo’s lips, discarding them to place an array of kisses down the side of his neck instead, earning him a cut-off intake of breath. “I love you.” “And I love -” Swallowing the rest of his confession, Friedrich took him by the face and captured his lips anew and Giacomo _whimpered_. “Will you take me?” The whispered question caused his blood to collect in exactly two places: his groin and his face, and Giacomo, seemingly having noticed his situation, grinned and bit his lip as he moved his hands underneath the lapels of Friedrich’s coat, pulling it down inch for inch until it fell onto the floor. His face then fully burning, Friedrich stopped Giacomo’s hand where they were about to unbutton his waistcoat. “Giacomo, wait.” “What is it?” He swallowed at the soft sound of the blond’s voice, he did not know what he did to deserve him. “Katte only ever took me, so...” “Oh,” Giacomo said with a sigh of relief, “it is quite alright.” Friedrich nodded, his heart somersaulting when Giacomo first took of his own jacket and waistcoat before he opened the buttons of Friedrich’s waistcoat. He watched those gentle fingers push the buttons through their holes with a skilled fastness, something that really should not have been so erotic. “You kept it?”

Surprised by his question, Friedrich blinked and only then realized that Giacomo, upon having unbuttoned his shirt, had caught sight of the necklace. Heat of embarrassment rose into his face, he had forgotten that he was indeed wearing it around his neck. Giacomo had taken the pendant between his thumb and forefinger to feel the impressed elements in the gold, and seeing him touch it send another, indefinable wave of emotion through Friedrich. “I always kept it,” he whispered, careful as to keep any tremble out of his voice, which, considering his racing heart and tight trousers, was a difficult thing for him to do. The younger did not answer as he continued to caress the pendant - and Friedrich was stunned to see his eyes fill with tears. “Giacomo...” “I was unsure whether you kept it or not.” “I always did,” he spoke with a low voice, not caring that he was repeating himself. “I always kept it safe.” It was an utterly confusing situation, to have his blood boiling not only from desire but from an overwhelming mixture of emotions as well and when Giacomo looked up with those gentle brown eyes, Friedrich almost moaned. He wanted him, oh he wanted him. The first moan did escape him when they kissed again and Giacomo let his thumbs brush over his nipples. _Good God._ Friedrich was panting, and he blindly tried to work on the ridiculously small buttons of the shirt that Giacomo was wearing. “Get that off,” he gasped, the strain in his trousers so bold that he was scared of spilling his release before he would even have undressed out of them. Giacomo, the tears since banished from his eyes, giggled and pulled his hands away from Friedrich’s chest to open the shirt by himself, revealing pale, freckled skin. It was not the only thing that caused the breath to catch in Friedrich’s throat, however. “You kept it?” The pear-shaped blue diamond seemed to glow on Giacomo’s skin and it was such an unexpected sight that Friedrich, for a moment, did not know what to say. That he had kept the necklace that Giacomo had given him was nothing out of the ordinary for him, but for Giacomo to have kept it... “Would you keep it on?” Giacomo, who finished shrugging off his shirt to dump it onto the floor, nodded, the color in his face an endearing shade of pink. They hurried to get out of their own trousers, for they knew that it would have taken too much time otherwise and considering that Friedrich was already throbbing, to much wasted time could become a problem - and yet he was still in his underwear when Giacomo came to stand in front of him naked, waring nothing but the necklace. “How beautiful you are...” Giacomo kissed him, dragging it out until Friedrich whimpered in need before he climbed onto the bed. _Oh God._ He was nervous, his unsteady hands and flushed face were proof of it and when he saw Giacomo sprawled out on his bed, lolling in anticipation, his knees nearly gave in. It would not have been a lie if he would have been described as a living piece of art. Giacomo had loosened the bow that had held his pony tail back, his hair surrounding his utterly gorgeous face like a halo and Friedrich could not do but stare at the unblemished, freckled skin that was a pleasant contrast to the dark blue bedspread. A bit unsure what to do, he got onto the bed, moving on his kneed until he reached his side. “Do you...” He trailed off, but before he could have tried again, Giacomo revealed what he held in right palm - a crystal vial. “Do you want to try or shall I do it myself?” Friedrich did reach out with one hand to take the vial, but hesitated and eventually pulled his hand back.

He had only ever tried to do it to him when he was especially lonely, but other than that, the first and last one to have touched him... _there_ had been Katte. It was an embarrassing confession - he did not know how to do it. “I do not...” “Oh, that is quite alright.” Unable to answer, Friedrich nodded and continued to kneel on the soft mattress as Giacomo shuffled around, pulled the pillow out from underneath his head so that he was lying flat and opened the screw cap of the vial, pouring a bit of the clear liquid into his left palm. He watched how Giacomo warmed the oil between his palm, spread it over the fingers of his left hand and he nearly stopped breathing when Giacomo’s hand moved to his neathers, past his erect cock, his index and middle finger extended. The younger man moaned when he pushed two fingers into himself at once, obviously no less eager to speed things up, and Friedrich was about to tell him that he must not hurry when Giacomo threw his head back and _moaned_, his body arching off the mattress. It would have been foolish for him to believe that Giacomo did not know what he was doing, oh when he had sunken onto his knees he had known what he was doing, so Friedrich only laid his hand onto Giacomo’s thigh as if to reassure him. “Friedrich.” The whimper of his name went straight to his groin and he did not know where to look - Giacomo’s fingers scissoring him open, Giacomo’s cock bouncing against his stomach and leaving precum on his skin or the bright pink that had conquered him from chest upwards. Neither did he know how much time passed until he heard Giacomo sigh and the obscene squelch of fingers being pulled out, “I - I am ready.” “Giacomo...” There was already a look of bliss on the younger man’s face, his cheeks burning and eyes glistering and Friedrich’s heart soared at the sight of the pear-shaped diamond resting on Giacomo’s rapidly heaving chest. The blond smiled and reached out to take Friedrich’s hand with his clean hand while closing his lubed fingers around his cock, urging Friedrich on to move in between his spread legs. It was all the incentive Friedrich needed, and he let out a shuddering breath as he came to rest in the designated position. “You are so beautiful,” he whispered, leaning down to kiss the inside of Giacomo’s thigh while squeezing his hand at the same time. “So beautiful...” Giacomo laughed huskily and shufled a bit closer to Friedrich to be able to wrap his lithe legs around his waist, and Friedrich, albeit never having done it before, knew to take his cock into his hand and angle it against Giacomo’s loosened entrance. “Giacomo, I do not know -” “Hush,” Giacomo cut him off with a gentle voice, running a hand up Friedrich’s arm as he closed his legs a bit tighter and nudged him to push forward. Friedrich did so, his legs trembling as he entered him. The heat that surrounded him within an instant absolutely overwhelming and when he let out a strangled gasp, Giacomo only chuckled. It was gentle and by no means meant to tease and Friedrich was grabbing Giacomo’s thigh hard enough for the knuckles of his hands to stand out in a stark white. They both moaned when his pelvis came to rest against the younger man’s pelvis and that time it was Friedrich who nearly toppled over. “Fuck.” Giacomo moaned and shifted a bit, circling his hips to get used to the feeling of penetration but not removing his legs from around Friedrich’s waist. “Kiss me, Friedrich, _please_.” It caused some struggle, but their lips and tongues did find each other.

He wanted to move, the heat that had pooled in his lower stomach urging him on to take him, preferably hard and fast, but Giacomo’s legs hindered him from doing so. As he broke away from the kiss and straightened, he rested his hand over the blue diamond for a long moment. Giacomo propped himself up onto his elbows, a mischievious grin on his face. “Let me up.” “What?” “Let me up.” A bit dumbstruck, Friedrich moved to lie down on his back and the breath was knocked from his lungs when Giacomo, with one or two skilled movements, sat atop him. The change in the angle of penetration made them both gasp. “_Oh ti amo, sei così perfetto..._” Friedrich was about to speak, though Giacomo, just in that moment, began to move. First circling his hips and leaning forward to plan his hands on Friedrich’s chest, he then raised on his knees until only the tip of Friedrich’s cock remained inside of him before he sank back down. The Prussian was left breath- and speechless for a good few seconds, in which Giacomo already set on to repeat the action. “_Ho sognato di fare questo, oh -_” “Tell me,” he gasped once he found his voice again, moving his hands up the younger man’s sides in admiration. The sound that Giacomo made could have been described as a whimpered moan, and he spoke as he circled his hips in a way that told Friedrich of how experienced he was. “I love you.” Another whimper - they both knew that they would not last for long, having wished for that exact moment for far too long. “I love you.” He looked up at Giacomo’s flushed face, at those plush lips and those gentle brown eyes, allowing the younger to ride him in the way that he wished it, unable to do anything other than lie there. It was still overwhelming, the fact that it was _Giacomo_ who was there on top of him, that he had him back in his life in a way that he never would have expected it. The boy that he had spend the autumn in Königs Wusterhausen could not have been any more different from the man that was riding him, but Friedrich yet felt a surge of long-repressed feelings rising together with the harbingers of his nearing orgasm. “Do not ever leave me,” he brought out, bringing up a hand to drive his fingers through the soft blond hair. “I need you.” Giacomo’s movements had since gotten more erratic and Friedrich was able to feel the tremours that were going through his body. “I will not,” the younger panted, his breath hitching and he squeezed his muscle around Friedrich who did not require more in order to fall over the edge. He came, hard and blinding and he probably would not have been able to see anything other than stars even if his eyes would not have fluttered close. His heart was racing, causing the blood to rush in his ears, and he thus only perceived Giacomo’s orgasm by the sudden wetness on his stomach. _Good God_. Giacomo pulled off, letting the softening cock slip out of him and groaning softly as he plopped down onto the mattress. How much time passed until he got the control over his senses back, Friedrich did not, but as soon as he did, he turned onto his side to be able to look at the blond. Giacomo was lying on his stomach, his cheek rested on his crossed arms. His eyes were closed but by the way that his eyelids were fluttering, Friedrich could easily tell that he was not asleep.

He gently laid his hand on top of Giacomo’s head, his heart fluttering when he spotted the small smile that formed on the younger man’s face in return and he continued to rest his hand there for a few moments until he moved it down, following the curve of his back with the tip of his middle finger. He himself smiled when he noticed how Giacomo arched his back the closer he got to his backside. It truly was a magnificent sight, even more so if it was not clad in any trousers - and it was _him_ who was allowed to marvel at and touch it. Oh, how eager he was to let his mother and her entourage know, he could already imagine their o-shaped mouths of surprise. Liebling?” “Hm?” “Was that a promise?” Giacomo raised his head, “What was?” Friedrich looked up from where he was drawing circles on the skin of Giacomo’s upturned backside. “That you will not leave me.” The younger man clicked his tongue, “Of course it was, Friedrich. I love you.” Friedrich rolled over onto his back and Giacomo followed him without being needed to told, propping his cheek up onto Friedrich’s chest as the Prussian’s fingers caressed his hair again after having pulled a pillow underneath his head. “Do you know how long I have dreamed of this?” Giacomo hummed in agreement and even though he could not see it, Friedrich smiled down at him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd be surprised if anyone will actually read it completely xD Sorry, I really need to learn how to write less lengthy things.


	12. Chapter 12 - Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not betaed, all mistakes are mine.

**September 1750**

Friedrich had not expected it, but it had taken him some time to get used to waking up to the presence of another warm body beside him. The first few mornings he, as embarrassing as it had been for him, had gotten startled when he had wanted to pull his arm back but had found it wrapped around another man’s body. It had been the first time that he had shared a bed with another - with Katte he had only ever napped on a blanket underneath a tree in the summer that they had met, as it never would have gone unnoticed if he would have smuggled him into his father’s palace, and so Friedrich had known just how blessed he had been to no longer be condemned to sleep by himself. Since he had never been one to sleep in late and there had not been exceptionally much work for him to do, it had left him with enough time to appreciate his sleeping lover. _His lover_. It had still caused his cheeks to grow warm when he would change into a position on his side, carefully so as to not wake Giacomo, and began his routine of brushing strands of blond hair away from the sleeping man’s face, marvelling at the beauty of his features. He had not known for how long he had looked at him, but if someone would have asked him, he surely would have been able to tell just how many freckles were decorating Giacomo’s cheeks and the bridge of his nose. Whereas sharing a bed had been a thing that Friedrich had needed to get used to, daily life had required none of that. Getting up to enjoy breakfast in togetherness after having shared a few precious and sometimes intimate moments in bed, going on walks with the dogs hand in hand and no longer being alone when he would retreat for hours to read or compose... he had appreciated and accepted all of those changes, which had been changed for the better. There had been no more lonely nights, no more evenings which he had spend ghosting around and thinking about all that he had lost in his life. Friedrich had asked Giacomo if he had wanted him to take Katte’s portrait down. It had been a question which he had needed to force over his tongue, as he had spend the last twenty-three years with the painting near him. But he had someone new at his side, he had _Giacomo_ and if Giacomo would not have been comfortable with the painting, he would have hidden it away; Friedrich had known that he would have liked it gone if their roles would have been reserved. He had been utterly dumstruck when Giacomo, after he had asked him, had seemed honestly confused by his question. _“I do not see why,”_ the Italian had said, rolling over onto his stomach and propping himself up onto his elbows to be able to look at him, _“it is a nice painting, after all.”_ Friedrich had already been about to lift the frame off its hooks and he had turned around, swallowing hard. _“I thought that... you would prefer it being gone.”_ Giacomo’s brows had pulled together, _“I know what it - that he is very important to you.” “I am asking about you, Giacomo.”_ Instead of answering the younger man had stood from the bed, pulling the belt of his sleeping robe a bit tighter around him as he had walked over to Friedrich. _“Leave it, it belongs here.”_ Slowly removing his hands away from the frame, Friedrich had reached out and had, as soon as Giacomo had been close enough, taken him by the wrist and had pulled him into an embrace, certain that he had been able to understand him even without words. _I love you_.

Three years had since passed, and for Friedrich it was impossible to imagine that he would ever live his life without Giacomo again. His initial fear of the Italian leaving, of him getting second thoughts, had practically vanished after they had spend the winter months of 1747 and 1748 more or less huddled together in front of the only fire place in the palace that had only been meant as his summer residence. Giacomo had not complained about the cold that had dominated most of the room in Sanssouci, and neither had he spoken a bad word about the unmasked possessiveness that Friedrich had shown during court events. The Prussian had never done it in a way that had been meant to control or restrain Giacomo in his freedom, but to show anyone that had been interested in Giacomo - of which there had been many - that he was his. Friedrich had done it so obviously that even his ageing mother had noticed it when he and Giacomo had visited her for her birthday. While Sophie Dorothea had been quite disbelieving when Friedrich had first told her about the events that had taken place during the night after the opening, but her disbelief had soon turned into honest happiness for her oldest surviving son. Giacomo and her had gotten along perfectly; Friedrich had wished that he would have been able to get Giacomo painted the moment that Sophie Dorothea had told him how much he still reminded her of the boy that had hidden behind his father’s leg. “_I am glad that you are no longer scared of my son,”_ his mother had said with a smirk, a bit out of the blue, after they had conversated for a good while. _“While it was adorable to see, I was worried. No one was ever scared of my Fritz.”_ Oh, how adorably red Giacomo’s face had turned! It had been uttermost adorable and Friedrich had not hesitated to kiss him right there and then in his mother’s salon. His heart had soared when he had heard the gasp and whispers that had broken out - while many had heard the rumors about the king of Prussia’s bed being no longer as empty as it had always been, it had been the first occasion that Friedrich had deliberately let them see. When he had let go of Giacomo again, the younger man’s face had been a darker shade of red, and Friedrich had not even tried to hide his grin as Giacomo had continued the conversation with Sophie Dorothea as if nothing had happened. _“I am very happy for you, my love,”_ his mother had told him during a quiet moment. _“I can see that he is doing you good.” “I do love him, Maman.”_ Friedrich had smiled when Sophie Dorothea had stroked his cheek, _“I know, I was easily able to see it in your eyes.”_ So Giacomo had stayed in Prussia and at his side, had made himself at home in the royal apartments of the Potsdamer Stadtschloss as well as in Friedrich’s bedroom in Sanssouci and Friedrich had made space for him, quite literally so. After the first year had passed and it had became obvious that Giacomo had not even thought about returning to Venice any time soon, the Italian had requested for his belongings to be brought to Potsdam. Friedrich had agreed, of course he had, and so he had made sure that Giacomo’s most precious belongings would find their place. Paintings, sculptures, books - the presence of the younger man in his life could not have been overlooked and oh, Friedrich had loved it.

It had never been a lie when the letters that he had send to Wilhelmine, August Ferdinand or his mother had stated that there had never been a more peaceful and harmonic time in his life - and it had, once again, been his fault that he had ruined it. Or so he had believed it, anyway. It had begun when he had made the decision to invite Voltaire, with whom he had stood in contact through letters for a few years, to his court in the winter months of 1749. The frenchman had agreed and had announced his arrival for the end of January 1750. Friedrich had been excited, he truly had. Philosophy had been one of his major interests for as long as he had been able to read, practically, and while Giacomo had shared his love for art, literature, music and other beautiful aspects of life, philosophy had not been it. Friedrich had not blamed the younger man and neither had he tried to force an interest onto him, very well aware that it would not have worked. In his eyes Giacomo had already been an uttermost perfect individual, whether he had liked the writings of French intellectuals or not. There had been an incident when Giacomo had caught him bend over one of Voltaire’s letter at an hour that had been closer to sunrise than midnight. _“Friedrich?” “Giacomo?”_ The chair he had been sitting in had creaked a bit as he had turned around in it to be able to look at the door behind him, not having expected to be disturbed at this hour. He had smiled at the sight of his lover standing in the door of his study, dressed in his floor-length and fur-lined winter sleeping robe and looking as if he yet had to fully wake up, and had stood, discarding the letter, to move over to him. _“What are you doing out of bed,”_ he had asked him, still smiling as he had brushed a strand of hair behind his ear. _“You weren’t there,”_ Giacomo had muttered in response, failing to suppress a yawn. _“Missed you.”_ Friedrich had chuckled and had pulled him into a quick embrace,_ “You should get back under the covers, Liebling, you will get cold otherwise.”_ _“You should, too.”_ Kissing the top of Giacomo’s head, he had let go of him again. _“I promise that I will be soon.”_ The younger man had squinted his eyes as he had looked at him, and Friedrich had known that Giacomo had already been aware of what he had been doing at this ungodly hour. _“You are reading his letter, are you not.”_ Feeling as if he had been caught doing something that he should not have done, Friedrich had pressed his lips together as Giacomo had spoken while laughing softly,_ “I do not understand how you waste a good night’s sleep over them, Friedrich.”_ He had known that Giacomo had loved to tease him about the friendship that he had formed with the French. The teasing had, however, never been of a vile nature. _“You could not understand, considering that it requires -” “Be careful what you say.”_ Friedrich had cocked a playful eyebrow, _“Are you threatening me?”_ _“I would not call it threatening,”_ Giacomo made a vague gesture with his hand, _“but I could move into one of the guest apartments and not allow you to visiting me in my be - hmpf!”_ He had grabbed him by the face and had kissed him, to silence him as much as to show him that he would never accept Giacomo’s proposal. Giacomo had laughed against his lips, _“Just... do not take much longer.” “I will not__, Liebling, I promise.”_

Their harmonic togetherness, the peace that had established in their life together had been disturbed from the very first moment of Voltaire’s presence at Friedrich’s court on. Giacomo may not have noticed it, but Friedrich was certain of it. Other than the letters had inticated, the frenchman was a rather provocating and arrogant person, eager to start an arguement at any given opportunity and without a care about another’s feelings. He was intelligent and well-spoken, of course he was, and while it would have been a lie if Friedrich would have said that he did not enjoy the evenings at the Round Table with Voltaire and the few other French philosophers that were currently residing at his court, they were overshadowed by the way that Voltaire tried to get close to Giacomo. The frenchman had tried it during his first evening in Potsdam and while he must have thought himself to be inconspicious, Friedrich was able to see right through it. Oh, he had seen and if he could have done it, he would have kicked the older man out of his palace right there and then. He had felt physically sick when he had seen how Voltaire had leaned closer to Giacomo to speak something into the air next to his ear, and how uncomfortable Giacomo had been. It had been anything but a secret that Giacomo belonged to _him_, that they were in love and content with each other and considering that Friedrich and Voltaire had addressed each other as _mon ami_ in their countless letters, the fact that the French still tried to get an opportunity was even more maddening than it usually would have been - and it triggered Friedrich’s possessiveness and jealousness to an extend that he had not known before. There was not a meal that he did not spend without his left hand resting on Giacomo’s thigh, whose seat had been moved from the head of the table to the empty space beside him, not a night in which he did not try to please the younger as good as he could. He may not have admitted it to himself, but he was scared of losing him. Even though Friedrich knew that Giacomo had not grown fond of Voltaire, that he was utterly bored by the things the French tried to talk with him about and that Giacomo honestly loved him, the fear of Giacomo realising that he could be better off with another holding onto his heart with an iron hold. He had wanted to talk with him about it, but had lacked the courage to do so. He could not have known that he would. much later, wish that he would have told him. Other than the problem that had slowly but steadily build itself up around Voltaire, Friedrich had been happy. He still woke up with Giacomo at his side and despite the time that had passed, he loved him no less. With a different intensity, yes, but no less. Giacomo’s initial role as an ambassador for Venice had been completed when the year of 1748 had came to a close, thus leaving him with enough free time to go after whatever was to his enjoyment and Friedrich, as his lover, supported him in it whether it was through money or by acquiring books that Friedrich knew he loved. Giacomo did not ask him to do it; Friedrich knew that he never would have, but all of the money and the endeavour would be worth it when he would see the glimmer in Giacomo’s eyes. The Italian was so utterly grateful for everything that he gave him. _He loved him and God, he was so scared of losing him._ Friedrich was pulled out of his thoughts by his valet, who had entered the room after having knocked twice and greeted him with a bow of his head.

“What is it?” “You have told me to notify you at five, Sire.” “Ah yes, so I did. You may leave.” “Yes, Sire.” Keith bowed once more before he turned and closed the door behind him, leaving Friedrich to groan and run his hands over his face in a tired manner. He had spend the majority of the day seated behind the writing desk of his study and trying not to break his mind over the proposal that had been send from Vienna while all that he had seemingly been willing to think about had been his beloved Giacomo, who he believed in the grande salon of the Potsdamer Stadtschloss. Given the time of year they ususally would have been residing in Sanssouci, but Friedrich, after having seen how much Giacomo had suffered from the cold, had decided to let the necessary heating be installed before autumn would be over. They thus had moved into the city further than expected - Voltaire as well, of course, and if Friedrich had given him the room that was farthest away from the royal apartments, it had been solely due to coincidence. He _could_ have send him back to France, but Friedrich needed to admit that he still enjoyed to converse with him and Voltair seemingly yet had to notice the aversion that the Prussian was harboring for him as a person, not as a philosopher. Friedrich sighed as he stood and closed the file with the documents to retreat to his adjoined dressing room. He would have preferred to spend the evening with Giacomo in the privacy of their apartment and it would have been within his power to do so, but Giacomo always loved to hear him play the flute and one of the few representative duties that he had not ceded to his wife had been the flute concerts. The selected few that he allowed to attend would, figuratively speaking, lift him into the skies with their praises - but it was the prospect of getting to see Giacomo’s shining eyes that hindered him from staying away from his own festivities. Friedrich did not speak as he was dressed into a new set of attire, had his wig refreshened and had Keith read out the list of those that had came after his invitation. While there was yet no music playing when he moved down into the ball room, the atmosphere was already filled with carefree chattering and laughter which both ebbed down as he entered the room, his head held high and his back straightened in a perfect picture of arrogance and elegance that did only falter when he came to stand in front of Giacomo. The younger man was just as breathtakingly beautiful as the first time that Friedrich had seen him and he knew that most of the men that had formed into a group around Giacomo thought so, too, judging by the way that they were watching him. Giacomo was his. He leaned over to kiss his cheek, thus showing those who might have forgotten that Giacomo was standing within his sole favour only. “How are you, Liebling?” “I am good, thank you.” He smiled, nodded, and brushed his fingers against the back of Giacomo’s hand before he went on to greet his mother as well. Despite being not of best health, Sophie Dorothea had made the journey from Berlin to attend to his concert and Friedrich felt a stab in his chest when he noticed the unusual paleness of her face. “I am very glad that you came, Maman.” She managed a somewhat convincing smile, “It is to my greatest pleasure, my love.” Her voice was still quite rough, not yet fully healed from the infection that had bound her to her bed for nearly three weeks.

“Would you like to sit down, Maman?”, he asked her, putting a hand on her forearm and at her nod, he brought her over to the padded armchair that he had ordered to be brough into the ballroom for her exclusively - right next to Giacomo’s chair. Out of all the guests, his mother and his lover were the only ones that would be allowed to sit while he and his small orchestra would play. “Do you need anything else?” “I do not,” Sophie Dorothea smiled yet again, though her smile did seem a bit more honest than before then that she had sat down. “Thank you for asking, my love.” Out of the corner of his eye, Friedrich spotted the man that he had tried not to think about: Voltaire, the philosopher of whom he had thought so highly of before he had met him in person. The frenchman had emerged himself into the group that had formed around Giacomo and for a moment, Friedrich smirked at the way that the noblemen’s eyes were as wide as dinner plates as they looked at Giacomo, who was bound into a seemingly lively conversation with a Spaniard. He watched the scene for a few short moment before he strut over to where his flute had been placed on top of the spinet, and the entire room fell into silence when he picked it up, fixing the mouth piece into position while taking the last few steps to reach his music stand. When Friedrich looked up from the notes in front of him, his eyes met those of Giacomo, who had since sat down in his chair beside that of the Sophie Dorothea. _God, how beautiful he was._ A smile tugged at his lips, a smile that was returned by the younger man, and it was the image that Friedrich kept in front of his inner eye as he raised his flute to his lips and, with a nod, gave the sign for the pianist to start. Just as it always happened when he played, he lost himself in the music. Friedrich knew the pieces he had chosen by heart, since he had written them himself, and so he did not even keep his eyes opened as his fingers flew over the instrument. There were a few gasps emerging from the guests every now and then, some courtiers muttering about how great _His Majesty’s_ abilities were. Oh, he knew that he was good, but it was not the courtiers’ approval that he longed to hear. He could have done without the applause from the courtiers if only his mother and Giacomo would be satisfied with his performance. The half an hour that it took to complete the piece went by faster than ten minutes usually would have felt and when Friedrich opened his eyes again, his chest clenched for all the wrong reason. While his mother was smiling and applauding like the others were, Giacomo did not. Oh he was applauding him alright and Friedrich knew that it was honest, but he was not looking at him. Giacomo had his head turned to where _Voltaire_ had leaned down and was whispering to him. Though what caused Friedrich’s heart to skip a beat was the fact that he did not appear annoyed or aversed as he had been the past few months, no, he was _smiling_ at whatever the frenchman was telling him and Friedrich, for a good few moments, forgot how to breathe. _No, no no no._ That he was reading too much into the situation, that he was overreacting without any real reason, he would only realize much later. Sadly he would. He drew in a raspy intake of air, failing to look away when Voltaire straightened and Giacomo turned his gaze into his direction again, smiling as if nothing had happened. The smile that Friedrich managed to answer with was strained, and if his hand trembled as he set his flute down, he tried to ignore it.

Friedrich had been on edge for the rest of the evening. While he had known that he was overreacting, that there had not been an honest reason for him to break his mind over it, he had not been able to help himself. A part of him had longed to stay even closer to Giacomo while another had made it impossible for him to endure it, so he had allowed himself to be bound into a conversation with Sophie Dorothea’s entourage. If he had missed the partly confused looks that Giacomo had directed at him? No, he had all but missed them. God, they had made him feel even worse and since he had been unable to sort out his thoughts, Friedrich had resumed to drink a few more glasses of wine than he would have under normal circumstances and while he had stood practically at the opposite end of the room, he had never lost Giacomo out of his eyes. It had taken a while, but the younger had eventually stopped to send questioning gazes his way and had taken part in a conversation as well - Voltaire always at his side and Friedrich had swallowed hard when he had watched Giacomo laugh and amusing himself in the merry round of which he, Friedrich, had not been a part of. That it had been a self-made misery, that there had not been a reason for it, he had known, and yet he had not found whatever he would have needed to change anything about it. _If only they would sleep side by side again that night..._ He had swallowed hard and had casted his gaze down onto the glass in his hand; how many times it had already been refilled he had not known. While the concert had went by fast, the remaining course of the evening had seemed to move by incredibly slowly. Hoping that it would be enough to stop the gearwheels of his mind from turning, he had concentrated on his mother. It had been to no avail, as Sophie Dorothea had been able to see through him just as she had always done it. “What is it that is on your mind?” Friedrich had cleared his throat, “Nothing, Maman. I am merely tired, that is all.” His mother had reached out to put her hand on his right, in which he had been holding his glass of wine. “You have never been a good liar, my love.” “I... it is nothing that I can speak about right now.” She had spoken, had only looked at him with an unreadable expression on her face and he had felt like an open book to her, swallowing yet again. His mother yet had to regain her health and all that she had apparently worried about had been her son. “It is nothing Maman, I promise.” Oh it had been anything but nothing, though considering that he had been afraid of bursting into tears right there and then and that his mother had not been of her best health, he had not wanted to disclose it any further to her. “I hope that it is.” “I promise, Maman,” Friedrich had tried to reasure her with a voice then barely above a whisper and leaned forward to kiss her forehead. “Please do not worry.” With that, the private conversation between mother and son had came to an end and they had resumed to participate in the quite meaningless court talk until Sophie Dorothea had stated that she was tired and would like to retreat for the night. Friedrich had not ceded it to a valet, but had taken it onto himself to show her to her chamber and it had been when they had reached it that he had no longer managed to keep his eyes from filling up. “Are you... better, Maman?” His mother had taken his face into her hands and had stroked his cheeks with all the love of a mother.

“The doctor has deemed me fit enough to leave the bed for more than a few mere minutes,” she had spoken, her voice gentle and her eyes soft. “It appears that my old body beat the infection despite it all.” Friedrich’s eyes had fluttered close and he had nodded, as good as he could have done it with his face in her hand. “I was worried. Giacomo... he worried about you as well.” “Yes, he has send me a few letters in which he asked about my well-being. It was very kind of him.” “I did not know that,” he had admitted and Sophie Dorothea had hummed. “It was a pleasant surprise. You two are happy with each other, I can see that.” Do not. “I...”, he had cleared his throat but had failed to get rid of the lump in it, “I am.” “My sweet boy, what a miracle it is that you turned out so different than your father.” Friedrich had smirked, even though he had not felt like it. “I certainly would not have came so far. Or up the stairs so fast, Maman.” They had both laughed, and Friedrich had, as Sophie Dorothea had let go of his face, taken one of her hand to kiss its back. “Good night.” “Good night, mon cœr. Will I see you before I depart tomorrow?” “I will make sure of it, Maman.” He had retreated to his apartment after his mother had locked the door behind her, and for how long he was already staring out of the window, feeling the unmistakable effects of the wine that he had consumed and trying not to think, he did not know. His heart threathened to burst from the sheer amount of love for Giacomo that it carried, and there were few things that he wished more for in that moment than to hold him in his arms, kiss him and hear his confessions of love, that Giacomo always whispered to him in Italian. When he had left the ballroom with his mother, Giacomo had still been standing within the same round with Voltaire at his side and the French had, just as Friedrich had looked over his shoulder, leaned closer to Giacomo. While he _knew_ that he would do Giacomo wrong by assuming that he would betray him and his love, Friedrich could not help it but be afraid. He, after all, knew that one could not influence the decision a heart made. Staring back out of the window and at the cloudy night sky, he only noticed the tears that had claimed their way down his face as they tickled him underneath his chin and a sob build up in his chest as he wiped them away. Turning away from the window, he moved over to the bed and sank down onto its edge. _He loved him and God, he was so terrified of losing him._ “Friedrich?” His heart nearly stopped as he suddenly heard Giacomo’s voice and footsteps nearing in on him, and Friedrich wiped at his face with both hands in a rough gesture. He did not stand, neither did he turn around when he perceived that Giacomo must have came to stand on the other side of the bed. “Are you crying?” The younger man’s voice was so soft, so gentle that it was enought to push further tears into his eyes and the reason as for why Friedrich did not turn around was fear. The fear that Giacomo might title his behavious as ridiculous, that he had already realised that he would be better of with another, with _Voltaire_, and that he, Friedrich, would end up all alone again with yet another love he would have lost due to his own behaviour. “Are you crying?” “No, no I am not.” A ridiculous statement, really, as his tears were clearly audible in his unsteady voice.

“I am not.” “Ah.” Friedrich froze when Giacomo’s voice changed from soft to uppish, sending a cold wave of dread through him. “Giacomo?” The younger man did not answer and Friedrich turned around when he heard distancing footsteps, but his fear of Giacomo leaving, was, at least for the moment, casted aside. The Italian had walked over towards a chair and albeit he had his back turned towards him, Friedrich was able to see that he was working on opening the buttons of his waistcoat. He watched him as he shrugged off said waistcoat and hung it over the back of his chair, his heart racing so strong that he felt it in his throat. Silence reigned the room, a silence that weighted heavy on Friedrich’s shoulders, and he swallowed hard around the lump in his throat when he realised that Giacomo was angry. There had only been a few times that he had seen him angry in those three years, and when it had first happened, Friedrich had not even noticed it. When Giacomo would get angry, he would not rage. He would not snarl, would not seek an arguement and neither would he yell and scream; in fact, he would do nothing but stay silent and for Friedrich, the silence was worse than any of the screaming that Giacomo could have done. Especially then, as he was sitting on the bed and staring at the back of his lover, who was unmistakably angry. “Liebling...” “_What_,” Giacomo retorted with quite a vicious snarl, making Friedrich flinch due to the way that he kicked off his shoes when the turned around to face him. “You decide to _ignore_ me for the evening, ditch _me_ to be with those _women_ that stare at you as if they want you to be their next meal instead, leave me alone with him and then go on and call me Liebling as if nothing happened!” “Leave you with him?” From one second to another, anger had mixed itself into the mix of emotions that had already been confusing enough on his own and Friedrich almost jumped up onto his feet. “Oh, you did seem to enjoy yourself with him.” “What?” “You heard me well enough,” he gave back, his own voice then laced with a snarl as well though why he was angry, Friedrich did not really know. If he would have paused and thought about it, he surely would have found out that it was himself that he was angry with the most. “Are you being serious,” Giacomo retorted, his face a perfect image of momentarily confusion. “Ha, you do not even try to deny that _you_ and _him_...” The two stood facing each other, a few meters between them, and while Friedrich had expected the confusion to disappear from and the anger to return to Giacomo’s face, neither had happened. Where anger had colored his face a shade of red, paleness then claimed them. “What?”, was all the younger repeated with a low voice and Friedrich was suddenly unable to look at his face. He swallowed, “I saw you two and since you were happy enough, I figured that there was no need for me to join.” “You are unbelievable, Friedrich.” “Unbelievable? _Me?_” He laughed without any real humor behind it, “When it is you who allowed him close to you?” As if Giacomo just then realised what Friedrich was, unconsciously so, getting at, he shook his head and took a step backwards. “I did not...”, he trailed off, “I am not doing this,” shook his head once more and before Friedrich could have opened his mouth to speak, Giacomo had already slammed the door shut behind him. “Giacomo!” He gasped, but continued to stand frozen to the spot for a handful of seconds as he tried to get to terms with what had happened.

If was not only the first time that they had argued, no, it had also been the first time that either of them had risen their voice in front of the other. He was gone, and once Friedrich understood that, he hurried to get out of the room as well but when he reached the corridor, Giacomo was nowhere to be see. Hasting down the corridor in direction to the main staircase, Friedrich felt the sting of new tears that had risen into his eyes. _His fault_. He could have slapped himself - it was due to his words that the situation had escalated, due to his own fear and oh, how could he have been so stupid! “Giacomo?” As ridiculous as it may have been, he still called out for him a few times as he hurried to get down the grand escalier and to the then empty entrance hall. He had no idea where Giacomo could have gone, and the prospect of the younger having left the palace with no shoes and only a thin shirt was an uttermost worrying one. “Giacomo?” Instead of a verbal answer Friedrich merely perceived a small sniffle, so subdued that he surely could have missed it and when he turned around, he found his lover sitting on the floor between two marble plinth. Walking over to him, he tried, and failed, to swallow down the lump in his throat, squatting down in front of Giacomo who held his face hidden in his crossed arms. Friedrich hesitated only for a moment before he reached out and put a hand on top of Giacomo’s head, burrying his fingers in the soft hair. “I am sorry,” he whispered, “I did not mean what I said.” It, at first, seemed as if Giacomo had heard but had decided not to react to his apology and Friedrich was about to repeat what he had said when the younger man did raise his head. Giacomo’s sniffles were more audible then, and he felt a stab in his chest as he saw how puffy his eyes and how tear-streaked his cheeks were. “D-Do you rea-really believe that I -” “No no,” Friedrich hurried to answer, “no, I do not.” The Italian sniffled again, averting his gaze away from Friedrich. “You ought to get up from the floor, Liebling. It is too cold.” Friedrich stood first and when he offered his hand to Giacomo, it was accepted after a few seconds. “I am sorry...” “I thought that - that you... I would never betray you -” “I know that.” He nearly gasped when the younger man shook his head and he took Giacomo’s face into his hands, though not forcing him to meet his gaze. “I do not know what if was but when I saw you with him I just... I do not want to lose you, Giacomo. I am so scared of losing you.” “And then you accuse me of accepting his offer?” He swallowed, a bit at a loss for words. He had accused him. “What did he offer to you?” Giacomo snorted and brough up a hand to wipe at his nose, “That he could give me everything I want to have. He said that you surely would not mind it, Friedrich.” “What?” “I am sorry, I only talked to him because I would have caused a scene otherwise...” “Oh Liebling.” Friedrich leaned over to kiss Giacomo’s forehead and when Giacomo closed in to nestle against his chest, he closed his arms around him. “I apologize, I should not have read so much into it.” “You gave me quite the fright,” the younger sniffled, “I thought that you would cast me aside.” _And I thought that you would find someone better_.

“I will never do that, Liebling. I love you too much,” Friedrich whispered into Giacomo’s hair after he had lowered his head to press a kiss into it. “I love you too.” He smiled when he felt Giacomo’s arms slowly coming tightening around his waist. “And I would be damned if I would ever choose him over you. Have you looked at him?” “I am sorry, Liebling, I should have talk to you.” “Yes, you should have.” “Do you forgive me?” “You know that I always would, Friedrich.” Giacomo’s voice dropped a bit lower, “I always would.” They held onto each other in silence, but other than before, the silence that surrounded them was a comfortable one and Friedrich only let go of his lover when he noticed the shiver that went through him - and remembered that Giacomo was not wearing any shoes. “Come, I do not want you to catch a cold.” He reached for the younger man’s hand, squeezing it once. Oh, how greatful he was that it had not ended badly. “Friedrich?” “Yes?” “You do know that you must make it up to me, do you not?” They stopped once they reached the top of the staircase and Friedrich, with a smile on his face, pulled his lover close to him with a quick movement. “Tell me what you want me to do, Liebling.”

_Fin._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaand a bit of h/c to end the story (you know me, I had to do it) xD Thanks to anyone to left kudos and comments, I cannot say how much they mean to me <3


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